The Golden Harbor
The bell tower of St. Jude’s did not ring for the dead, nor did it chime the hours, for it had been silent since the Great Plague of ’94 when the last of the city’s bells had cracked under the weight of a grief too heavy for bronze to bear, leaving only a hollow, resonant void that seemed to swallow the sound of the rain as it drummed against the slate roof of the orphanage below. It was here,...
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