The Faded River
The storm does not arrive with the courtesy of a warning, but rather with the sudden, violent rupture of the sky, as if the heavens themselves have been torn open to bleed a thick, bruised purple rain onto the slate roofs of Oakhaven. You are standing in the center of the kitchen, your hands gripping the edge of the oak table so tightly that your knuckles have turned the color of old bone,...
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