The Faded Photograph
The fog did not merely settle over the village of Harrow’s Creek; it descended, a heavy, wet shroud that smothered the sharp edges of the world and turned the cobblestones into slick, black mirrors reflecting a sky that had forgotten how to hold its light. It was in this suffocating dampness, in the hour when the church bells had long since ceased their tolling and the streetlamps flickered...
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