The Wistful Saga
The feast was held in the village hall, a long table groaning under the weight of roasted lamb and stale bread. You sat at the far end, your hands stained with the graphite of your surveyor’s work, while the elders toasted the harvest and the resilience of Oakhaven. You watched them, this community you loved with a quiet, obsessive ferocity that felt less like affection and more like a...
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