The Distant Nightmare
The fog rolled in from the moors each morning, thick and white, erasing the boundary between the village of Oakhaven and the grey sea beyond. It was a town built on stone and silence, where the air tasted of salt and old iron. For three centuries, the townspeople had lived under the Watch. The Watch was not a person, but a state of being, a perpetual vigilance against the things that stirred in...
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