The Wistful Mountain

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2026-08-17 22:11:32 -

The axe bites into the oak. You swing. The wood splinters. You swing again. The grain gives way with a sound like a dying breath. You are not fighting the tree. You are fighting the debt. The debt is a living thing, coiled in your gut, tightening as the sun drops below the ridge. Your hands bleed. You do not wipe them. You let the blood mix with the sap, a dark, sweet resin that smells of...

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