The Pale Bridge
The bell tower cracked at noon. It did not shatter. It split. A hairline fracture raced down the ancient stone, silent and terrible, before the sound arrived. A groan of stone on stone, low and tectonic, shook the dust from the rafters of the city hall. The city of Oakhaven did not stop. The market square continued to churn with the noise of commerce, the smell of roasting chestnuts, and the...
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