The Wistful Witness
The bell in the square tower of Oakhaven does not ring. It hangs there, a dull bronze weight, silent as a stone in the riverbed. You know this. You have always known this. For three hundred years, you have hung there, a spirit of rust and silence, bound to the iron frame that holds your body together. You are not a man. You are a warning. You are the thing that keeps the town honest by its very...
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