The Wistful Mirror

added blog Literature

2026-08-17 22:45:23 -

You wake in the grey. The mist is not water, but a thick, suspended breath held by the earth itself. You are old. Your joints ache with a dull, familiar rhythm, like the ticking of a clock that has run too long. You stand at the edge of the moor, the wind pulling at your cloak, which is tattered and heavy with the damp of ten thousand miles. You are Thomas, and you have walked for years. You...

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