The Wistful Crossroads

bir ses eklendi Literature

2026-08-18 21:34:05 -

The mist clung to the roots of the ancient oaks like wet wool, damp and cold against my skin. I sat on a mossy stone, my hands resting on my knees, waiting for the forest to speak. It had been three days since I last saw the sun, but the light here was a pale, bruised thing, filtering through the canopy in thin, shivering beams. My name is Elara, and I am a keeper of the green, a title that...

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