The Wistful Witness
The kettle had been whistling for an hour, a thin, reedy sound that pierced the heavy fog settling over the valley of Ashgrove. Elias stood by the iron stove, his hands hovering over the porcelain cup, trembling not from the cold, but from the sheer weight of the silence that had accumulated in the room. The year was 1924, a time when the world was still stitching itself together after the...
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