The Distant Journey
The snow has stopped falling, but the cold remains. It sits in the bones. You are walking. The road is a ribbon of white stretching into a grey void. Your boots crunch. The sound is sharp. It cuts the silence. You carry a satchel. Inside is the evidence. Inside is the mirror. You are not a man who looks at his own face. You avoid the glass. You avoid the water. You are a seeker of truths that...
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