The Faded Guest
The bell in the steeple did not ring. It hung there, a heavy tongue of bronze, silent and still. In the village of Oakhaven, silence was a thing you could see. It settled in the dust motes dancing in the slant of afternoon light. It pooled in the corners of the square. Elias stood by the church door. He was small for his age, a boy of twelve with hands that never stopped moving. He twisted the...
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