The Distant Nightmare
The bell tower in the village of Oakhaven did not ring for the dead, but for the living who had forgotten how to breathe. Thomas Ashworth stood in the center of the great hall, his hands trembling not from cold, but from the weight of the silence that pressed against his eardrums. The air smelled of wet stone and ancient dust, a scent that seemed to cling to the fibers of his woolen tunic, a...
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