The Wistful Crossroads
The road to Oakhaven is not merely a path but a wound in the earth, a long, jagged scar of packed mud and iron-rich clay that stretches endlessly toward the horizon, where the sky bruises into a perpetual, heavy violet that suggests the sun has forgotten how to set, leaving the world suspended in a twilight that is neither day nor night but a third, suffocating state of being where the air...
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