The Distant Whispers
The oak tree in the rear garden was not merely dying; it was being executed. Dr. Elias Thorne stood at the window of his study, the glass cold against his forehead, watching the arborists scale its ancient boughs with the mechanical precision of surgeons. The machine, a low-slung beast of iron and canvas, sat idling on the lawn, its engine coughing black smoke into the grey, industrial dawn. It...
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