The Distant Promise

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2026-08-20 03:08:43 -

The rain tasted of iron. It fell on the slate roofs of Oakhaven, a small village nestled in the shadow of the moors. I was twelve. My name was Elias. I carried a box. Inside the box lay the bones of a wren. The wren had died in my hand. I had held it too tight. My fingers were red. My breath was fog. The village watched. They always watched. Oakhaven was a place of eyes. The windows were dark...

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