The Wistful Throne
The stone church in Oakhaven hums. It is a low, tectonic vibration that settles in the teeth and the marrow, a sound that has persisted since the mine tunnels were dug beneath the foundation. I am Elias Thorne, a constable of thirty-four years, and I have spent the last twelve months listening to that hum. I want my pension. I want to leave this industrial town before the next collapse takes my...
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