The Wistful Show
The sky above the valley of Oakhaven did not merely darken; it bruised, a deep, swollen purple that seemed to press down upon the shingles and the bare, skeletal limbs of the oaks with a weight that was almost physical, a tangible oppression that settled into the marrow of the town’s bones as if the earth itself were holding its breath in anticipation of a verdict that had long since been...
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