The Wistful Skyline
The train rattled over the iron bridges, a rhythmic clatter that seemed to vibrate in the marrow of Elias’s twelve-year-old bones, while his father, Thomas, sat rigid in the opposite seat, his eyes fixed on the passing gray fields as if expecting them to swallow the carriage whole. They were traveling to the St. Jude’s Institute for Culinary Arts, a remote sanatorium perched on a cliff in the...
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