The Wistful Witness
The fog in Oakhaven did not merely obscure; it remembered, curling around the eaves of the stone cottages with a persistence that felt less like weather and more like a collective, suffocating breath. Silas Vane, the village warden for twenty-two years, stood at the edge of his barley field, watching the frost creep across the stalks with the slow, deliberate cruelty of a judge passing...
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