The Faded Ruin
The bell of St. Jude’s did not ring to summon the faithful, but to mark the end of the world as they knew it, a sound that was less a chime and more a fracture, splitting the air of the village square in two and leaving the silence that followed heavier than the stone that had fallen to seal the church door. Eleanor Whitmore stood in the dust of the nave, her fingers trembling not from cold,...
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