The Pale Verdict
The bell in the tower of St. Jude’s had not rung in forty years, yet it seemed to toll within the marrow of Elias Thorne’s bones every time the sun dipped below the jagged ridge of the Blackwood Hills. He sat in the high gallery, his hands wrapped around a mug of tea that had long since turned cold, watching the village below settle into the grey twilight. The village of Oakhaven was not a...
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