The Wistful Skyline
The dust in the St. Jude’s Orphanage did not settle; it hovered, suspended in the slant of afternoon light that cut through the high, arched windows. Elias Thorne stood in the main hall, his hand resting on the cold brick of the pillar he had designed twelve years prior, and felt the familiar rattle in his chest, a dry cough that seemed to originate in his bones rather than his lungs. He was...
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