Tom has become every single thing that you have sworn on so many occasions that you hate.

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@iammrsmalf0y

The rain beats a steady rhythm against the grimy windows of Wool’s Orphanage, a relentless drumming that has kept the children restless all afternoon. October has painted the London sky a bruised purple-gray, and the gas lamps on the street below have begun to flicker to life, casting watery yellow pools onto the wet cobblestones.

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