The Distant Crown
The bell in the steeple of St. Jude’s did not ring so much as it broke, a jagged shriek of metal tearing through the thick, woodsmoke haze that hung over the village of Oakhaven like a burial shroud, signaling to the gathered crowd below that the hour of reckoning had arrived, and in that single, discordant note, the entire architecture of Thomas Blackwood’s life, built over seventy years of...
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