The Wistful Witness
The bell tower cracks before it falls. You hear it. A dry, wooden snap, like a rib breaking under a boot. You are standing in the mud, your shoes caked in the black earth of the lane. You are twelve years old. You are holding a stone. It is heavy in your hand. It is grey and cold. This is the year of the Silence. The King has declared that no voice shall be raised in the market square after the...
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