The Wistful Crossroads

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2026-08-19 03:05:05 -

The rain in Oakhaven did not fall so much as it hovered, a suspended grey mist that clung to the wool of coats and the glass of windows, blurring the sharp edges of the town into a soft, indistinct smear of slate and charcoal. It was a weather that favored memory, that encouraged the mind to wander back to times when the air was crisp and the world was made of distinct, countable things. Elias...

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