The Faded Root
The stone wall of the old parish gatehouse did not stand so much as it endured, a crumbling sentinel of grey and lichen that had watched over the village of Oakhaven for three centuries, its mortar weeping out in slow, dusty tears that marked the passage of time more accurately than any clock in the town square, and standing before it in the heavy, rain-swept dusk of a November that seemed to...
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