The Distant Promise
The rain in the Abbey of St. Jude did not fall so much as it exhaled, a cold, grey mist that seeped through the mortar and into the very marrow of the stones, carrying with it the scent of wet limestone and ancient, forgotten prayers. I stood at the foot of the spiral staircase, my small fingers trembling not from the chill but from the sheer, terrifying weight of the silence that surrounded...
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