The Wistful Crossroads

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2026-08-19 00:12:01 -

The fog rolled in off the salt marshes with the weight of a burial shroud, erasing the horizon line where the earth surrendered to the grey, churning sea. I stood at the edge of the pier, the wood slick beneath my boots, feeling the familiar, hollow ache in my chest that had become the rhythm of my days since the war. The air tasted of brine and rotting kelp, a pungent reminder of the boundary...

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