The Pale Bridge
The bridge had stood at the edge of the valley for so long that the moss on its stones had turned to a velvet so thick it seemed to breathe. It was a structure of pale limestone, arching over a river that ran with the quiet, relentless patience of blood in a vein. To the children of Oakhaven, it was not merely a crossing; it was a mirror. They did not see their faces in the water below, but...
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