The Wistful Ashes
The bell tower collapsed at noon, a sudden and violent severing of the sky that sent a plume of blackened stone and shattered oak raining down upon the village square of Oakhaven, where the air instantly turned thick with the taste of pulverized mortar and old, dried blood. It was not a fire, nor a storm, but a failure of the ancient mortar, a slow betrayal by the very hands that had built it...
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