The Faded Dust
The chandeliers in the Great Hall of St. Jude’s Abbey burned with a cold, white ferocity, their crystal prisms catching the light and scattering it across the polished stone floor in fractured constellations of gold and shadow. Elias Thorne stood at the center of this opulent decay, his forty years of life condensed into the stiffness of his spine and the tremor in his hands, which clutched a...
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