The Wistful Witness
The town of Oakhaven did not celebrate the end of the war so much as it exhaled. It was a long, shuddering breath that lasted three days, marked by the smell of roasted goose and cheap gin, and the sound of fiddles playing a tune that had no name but everyone knew. In the center of the square, under a canopy of bunting that had begun to fade in the relentless sun, stood a table laden with...
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