The Faded Bouquet
The bell of St. Jude’s did not ring so much as it sighed, a long, metallic exhalation that rolled across the cobblestones of Oakhaven like a fog that had forgotten how to dissipate. It was the sound of the hour passing, not into the next, but into the void beneath the earth, where the shadows pooled in the narrow alleys and the air tasted of damp wool and old iron. Elias Thorne stood in the...
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