The Wistful Crossroads

added blog Literature

2026-08-17 23:49:42 -

The rain fell on the ridge like a heavy, gray blanket thrown over the eyes of the dead, soaking into the wool of my coat until it felt less like protection and more like a second, rotting skin, clinging to my ribs with a wet, suffocating grip that whispered of the damp earth waiting below. I was a man made of iron and silence, a warden of the borderlands where the law was a thin, brittle thing...

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