The Wistful Dinner
The old stone gatehouse at the edge of the village of Oakhaven had stood for three hundred years, its mortar cracked by the relentless push of roots and the slow, indifferent erosion of rain, yet it remained, a silent sentinel watching over the market square. To the townsfolk, it was merely a ruin, a place where stray cats found shelter from the winter wind and where the children dared each...
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