The Wistful Crossroads

added blog Literature

2026-08-19 00:09:17 -

The rain in Vienna did not wash things clean; it merely made the grime heavier, turning the cobblestones into slick mirrors of the gas lamps that flickered above them. I stood on the corner of Graben, my coat soaked to the bone, watching the carriage pass with the empty space where my father had been. He was not dead, of course. That was the lie I told myself, a polite fiction to keep the world...

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