The Pale Tale
The rain against the high, grimy windows of the St. Jude’s Industrial Orphanage did not fall so much as it was driven, a relentless, sleet-laden assault that turned the glass into a distorted, weeping mirror of the city’s industrial sprawl beyond. Inside the infirmary, the air was thick with the scent of boiled linseed, carbolic soap, and the metallic tang of old fear, a smell that had seeped...
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