The Wistful Voyage

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2026-08-18 10:05:33 -

The rain had not stopped for three days, and it fell not as water but as a fine, grey mist that clung to the wool of my coat and seeped into the marrow of my bones, turning the cobblestones of the village square into slick, black mirrors that reflected only the low, bruised sky above. I had walked for what felt like an eternity, my boots heavy with the mud of the road, my pockets empty of coin...

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