The Wistful Witness
You are walking down the dusty, sun-bleached lane of Oakhaven, a town that seems to exist only in the amber haze of a dream no one else remembers, and the weight of the iron key around your neck is not merely a physical burden but a second spine, a rigid, cold extension of your own guilt that clicks against your collarbone with every heavy, deliberate step you take toward the old stone chapel...
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