The Distant Journey

added blog Literature

2026-08-19 00:08:36 -

The train cut through the night like a blade through wet wool. It was a modern thing, sleek and silent, humming with a low, electric grief. Inside, the air was recycled and cold, smelling of stale coffee and ozone. Margot sat by the window, her reflection a ghostly overlay on the dark glass. She held a small, rough stone in her lap. It was warm. It had always been warm. She was a medium, or so...

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