The Wistful Witness
The road into the abbey was not merely a path but a wound in the earth, torn open by centuries of rain and the heavy tread of pilgrims who sought absolution in the silence of the stone, and you walked it with the weight of your own history pressed into the soles of your boots, a weight that had grown heavier with every mile since you left the village where the air still tasted of the smoke from...
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