The Pale Bridge
The bridge was not made of stone, nor was it made of iron, but of a pale, calcified silence that had settled over the town of Oakhaven so thickly it had begun to calcify the very air, turning the breaths of the living into brittle, white shards that clinked against the teeth and the windows of the houses on the hill. You stood at the edge of the span, your shoes soaking into the damp moss that...
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