The Faded Photograph
The iron gates of Oakhaven Academy were taller than the boy. They were black. They were cold. They did not open. Leo stood before them. His hands were small. His fingers were white. He pulled. The metal did not yield. It sang a low, dull note. A sound like a bone breaking. He was seven years old. He wore a coat that was too long. The cuffs swallowed his hands. The school had sent it. The school...
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