The Distant Joke
The departure from the village of Oakhaven was not marked by weeping or the breaking of bread, but by the heavy, suffocating silence of a house that had forgotten how to breathe, for the Black Frost had taken the last of the children and left only the memory of their laughter hanging in the rafters like cobwebs. Elias Thorne, a man of thirty-two years whose hands were mapped with the fine,...
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