The Distant Nightmare
The rain in Oakhaven does not wash things clean; it merely makes the grime slicker, turning the peeling paint of the mill town into a shimmering, sickly mirror of the decay that has settled into the bones of the place. You are Elias Thorne, forty-two years old, and your knees ache with a dull, persistent throb that seems to resonate in time with the low-frequency Hum that has permeated the air...
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