The Wistful Letter
The bell tower of St. Jude’s did not ring so much as it groaned, a low, tectonic shudder that traveled through the flagstones beneath Elara’s bare feet and up into the marrow of her shins, vibrating with a frequency that felt less like sound and more like the slow, grinding rotation of the earth itself against its axis. She stood in the shadow of the belfry, a place where the air hung thick and...
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