The Wistful Mountain

added blog Literature

2026-08-18 18:33:39 -

I dreamt of a forest of glass trees, their branches shattering into a million diamonds under a sun that did not burn. I woke with the taste of iron and ash on my tongue. The air in the workshop was thick, stale, and smelled of varnish and old sweat. It was the year 1912, and the clock on the mantle, a piece of mahogany and brass I had built myself, struck four. It was always four. Time had...

0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews