The Faded Dust
The air in the town of Oakhaven did not smell of decay, as the old stories claimed, but of wet stone and the sharp, metallic tang of iron, a scent that had permeated the very pores of the earth for three centuries. It was a smell that stuck to the tongue and settled in the throat, a constant, low hum that the townspeople learned to ignore in childhood and resent in old age. In the center of the...
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