The Wistful Saga
The bell tower stood in the center of Oakhaven, a hollow tooth in the jaw of the hill. It was cracked. The fracture ran from the belfry down to the base, a jagged scar of mortar and stone that whispered in the wind. Elias watched it from the muddy lane. He did not look up. He looked at his hands. They were red to the knuckles. The mud was caked under his nails, black and cold. He had been...
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