The Wistful Witness
The rain does not fall on the village of Oakhaven. It hovers. It hangs in the air like a gray veil, a suspended breath that refuses to land, refusing to wash the dust from the cobblestones, refusing to cleanse the sin from the stones of the keep. You know this because you are the one holding the sky up. You are Aldric. You are the jailer. You are the sinner. The cell is small. It is stone. It...
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