The Pale Meridian
The air in the village of Oakhaven was thick with the scent of roasted pork and the metallic tang of the new steam engine that hummed ceaselessly from the mill, a low, throbbing vibration that seemed to settle in the bones of anyone who stood too close to the window, a reminder that the world was changing, that the old rhythms of the seasons were being overwritten by the relentless, grinding...
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