The Wistful Skyline
The sky broke open before the bells had even finished tolling. It did not thunder; it screamed, a high, thin shriek that tore through the thatch of your cottage and rattled the iron hinges of the chapel doors. You stood in the center of the square, your boots caked in the mud of the harvest, and you felt the air turn cold, not with the chill of winter, but with the sudden, absolute absence of...
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