The Wistful Show

added blog Literature

2026-08-18 15:34:56 -

The Wistful Show

The mud sucked at my boots with a wet, tearing sound. It was a cold, industrial gray morning, the kind that settles into the bones and stays. I stood in the center of the square, the cobblestones slick with rain and something darker. Around me, the air smelled of coal smoke and copper. My breath came in short, sharp bursts, fogging the cold air. I held my rifle tight. My hands shook. Not from...

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