The Wistful Silence
The rain in the city of Oakhaven did not fall so much as it hung, a cold, persistent mist that clung to the cobblestones and the faces of the living, blurring the line between the solid world and the whispering dark that seeped from the cracks in the pavement. Elias Thorne, an archivist of forty years whose joints ached with the dampness that had long since settled into his bones, stood before...
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