The Wistful Skyline
The sky above Harrow’s Hollow did not merely darken; it collapsed, a heavy, bruised thing that pressed down upon the shingle roofs and the skeletal limbs of the linden trees with a weight that seemed to pull the very air from the lungs of the men and women who stood frozen on the cobblestones, watching as the town’s identity, the name "Harrow" carved into the iron gate of the old mill, began to...
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