The Golden Oath
The stone of the chapel was cold against Elias Thorne’s knuckles. He stood before the heavy oak doors, the wind from the valley cutting through his coat. Behind him, the town of Oakhaven sprawled in the grey afternoon light, a patchwork of slate roofs and manicured lawns that looked too neat, too perfect. Elias was forty-two. He had been coming here every Sunday for twenty years, ever since his...
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