The Faded Road
"You did it, didn't you." The voice is low. It comes from the shadows of the watchtower. You do not turn around. You know the weight of the silence behind you. It is the weight of iron. It is the weight of the fog that has rolled in from the black water. You stand by the railing. The metal is cold. It bites your hands. You do not let go. "Look at me," he says. You look. He is old. His uniform...
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