The Pale Bridge

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2026-08-17 13:34:14 -

The Pale Bridge

I woke from a dream where the sky was the color of bruised plums, heavy with a rain that fell upwards, dissolving into the clouds before it could touch the ground. In the dream, I was standing on a bridge made entirely of sugar, and beneath the translucent arches, a river of molten copper flowed, hot enough to singe the air but not hot enough to burn. I was seven years old, or perhaps older,...

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