The Pale Fracture
You are the only one who sees the trees. Everyone else walks past them. They step over their roots, which jut out of the cobblestones like broken fingers. They do not look up. You look up. You have always looked up. The ash trees stand in a perfect circle in the town square. There are seven of them. They do not change. They do not grow. They do not shed leaves in autumn. They do not bud in...
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