The Wistful Throne
The bell did not ring to mark the hour; it shattered. The great bronze tongue of the sanctuary, suspended in the dark throat of the cathedral’s north tower, cracked with a sound like a bone breaking inside a living body, and the vibration traveled down through the stone, through the mortar, through the soles of the shoes of the few who remained, settling in the marrow as a deep, resonant dread....
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