The Pale Fracture
The bell in the steeple of St. Jude’s did not ring; it cracked. The sound was not a chime but a shatter, a sudden, violent exhalation of bronze that tore through the grey morning air of Oakhaven like a gunshot in a library. It was the first sign that the world had broken, though no one in the town knew it yet. They knew only that the sky had turned the color of old bruised plums and that the...
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