The Pale Letter
The bell did not ring. It cracked. A single, jagged sound tore through the midwinter silence of the valley, a noise like a bone snapping under a heavy boot. Silas stood in the nave, his hands still raised in the gesture of benediction, frozen by the shock. The great oak bell, the one that had watched over the village of Oakhaven for three centuries, hung now as a broken husk, its mouth split...
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