The Golden Cellar
The air in the basement of St. Jude’s Orphanage does not smell of mold, as you might expect of a place built to hold secrets, but of ozone and hot copper, the scent of electricity trapped in a bottle. You are standing in the center of the room, your hands trembling not from cold, but from the static charge that has been building in your marrow since you were six years old. Above you, through...
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