The Golden Oath
The brass key bit into the meat of your palm as you gripped it, the metal cold and unyielding against the sweat of your twenty-two-year-old skin. You were twenty-two, Elias Thorne, and you had traveled for three days by rail and cart to reach the gates of St. Jude’s Orphanage, a sprawling Victorian monstrosity of stone and slate that seemed to lean inward, as if listening to the wind. The...
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