The Golden Visit
The bell tower fell at dawn. It did not crumble; it simply ceased to exist, collapsing inward into a silence so profound it sounded like a scream. The village of Oakhaven lay in the shadow of the ruin, dust settling on the cobblestones like gray snow. No one moved. No one spoke. The sky above was the color of bruised plums, heavy with the scent of ozone and old stone. Thomas Ashworth sat on the...
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