The Wistful Petal
The bell tower of St. Jude’s in the village of Oakhaven was not merely a structure; it was a wound in the sky, a jagged scar of blackened stone that had stood for three centuries, watching the harvests wither and the children grow old. It was a building that breathed with a heavy, sulfurous sigh, its mortar crumbling like dry skin, its windows dark and unblinking. In the dream, young Thomas...
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