Whispers in the Pines
The rain fell in steady sheets as Mara stepped off the bus, her boots sinking into the muddy path leading to the town of Blackwood. The air smelled of wet pine and something sharper—oil, maybe, or decay. She pulled her…
townspeople
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The Sunken Chorus
## The Sunken Chorus The chipped ceramic warmed Maya’s palm. Not with heat, exactly. More like a thrumming silence. She traced the spiral grooves etched into its surface – not by hand, she suspected, but *grown*. It felt…familiar. Like a…