The Pale Door
The winter had settled over the valley of Oakhaven not as a guest, but as a verdict. It was a silence so absolute that the creaking of the old elm trees seemed like the groaning of ships in a storm, a sound that vibrated in the marrow of Elias Thorne’s bones. He stood at the center of the square, a place he had known since boyhood, where the cobblestones were worn smooth by centuries of hurried...
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