The Golden Greenhouse
The bell of St. Jude’s Hall did not ring so much as it screamed, a jagged tear in the fabric of the afternoon silence that made Elias Vance’s hands tremble around the heavy oak keys. He stood in the nave, the air thick with the scent of damp stone and old incense, watching the dust motes dance in the shafts of light that pierced the high windows. For thirty years, he had been the Custodian, the...
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