The Distant Crown
The bell in the tower of St. Jude’s did not ring to mark the hour. It screamed. It was a sound that tore the sky open, a jagged rib of noise that cut through the fog of the industrial valley. We were standing on the scaffolding, three of us, our boots slick with soot and rain. Below us, the city of Oakhaven sprawled like a rotting carcass, black smoke curling from ten thousand chimneys. The air...
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