The Pale Echo
The town of Oakhaven held its breath. It was a stillness that tasted of dust and old pennies, a silence so thick it pressed against your eardrums. You stood in the center of the square, surrounded by the faces of the harvest festival. They were smiling. They were laughing. They were eating. The air smelled of roasted corn and the sharp, metallic tang of fear. You wore the crown. You held the...
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