The Faded Paradox
The frost on the windowpane had formed into a pattern that looked suspiciously like a cracked bone, a jagged white vein running through the glass of the watchtower where I stood, shivering not from the cold, but from the weight of the silence that had settled over the village of Oakhaven. It was a quiet that felt heavy, almost liquid, pooling in the streets below where the cobblestones were...
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