The Wistful Silence
The bell in the tower of St. Jude’s did not ring. It hung there, a tongue of iron, silent and heavy. Elias noticed it on the first day. He was a shadow in the village, a thing of soot and silence. He had no name that the elders spoke aloud. They called him the Keeper. Or they said nothing at all. He climbed the spiral stairs. The stone was cold under his hands. The air tasted of dust and old...
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