The Wistful Silence

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2026-08-20 08:42:52 -

The iron gate was not closed, but it was heavy, and the sound it made when it swung against the cobblestones was a low, mournful groan that seemed to rise from the earth itself. You stood in the courtyard, the damp morning mist clinging to your wool cloak, watching the great oak in the center of the square. Its branches were bare, stripped of their leaves by the autumn wind, and they reached...

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