The Distant Crown
The rain fell on the village of Oakhaven not as water, but as a cold, grey dust that settled into the creases of the stone walls and the hollows of the eyes of the few souls who remained awake in the dead of the night, a fine, abrasive silt that seemed to carry the weight of centuries in every speck, coating the cobblestones in a layer of slippery, ancient mud that whispered of things buried...
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