The Wistful Crossroads

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2026-08-18 21:02:50 -

The frost that bit at the cobblestones of the High Market was not the natural kind, cold and indifferent as a stone, but a living thing, a creeping white mold that whispered in a voice like dry leaves skittering across a grave, and in the center of this frozen square, where the ancient oak tree had once stood before it was felled for the new cathedral spire, a boy named Thomas stood with his...

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