The Wistful Show
The bell in the tower was broken. It hung there, a black tooth missing from the jaw of the sky, silent and useless. But the wind knew how to sing through the cracks in the glass. It whistled. A high, thin note that cut through the dust of the attic. Thomas Ashworth held the glass. It was not a whole pane. It was a shard. A jagged, trembling thing of green and gray. It had fallen from the window...
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