The Distant Promise

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2026-08-17 18:43:16 -

The river was red. Not the deep, muddy brown of the spring thaw. Not the grey of winter silt. It was the color of old wine. The color of a bruise that would never fade. Margaret stood on the bridge. The wood trembled under her feet. The water rushed below. It hissed. It spat. She watched the leaves. They were torn. Shredded. They floated like dead skin. "Go home, woman." The voice came from the...

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