The Wistful Skyline
The silence in the Great Hall of St. Jude’s was not empty; it was heavy, a physical weight that pressed against your eardrums and settled into the marrow of your bones, a silence that tasted of iron and old stone. You stood at the center of the polished oak floor, the surface so worn by centuries of shuffling feet that it looked like water, and you watched your own reflection ripple in the dark...
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