The Pale Meridian

added blog Literature

2026-08-19 02:30:23 -

The Pale Meridian

The bell hung low in the shaft of the tower, a great bronze eye weeping rust. I sat before it, my fingers raw, my breath coming in short, jagged bursts that misted in the cold air. The stone was damp. It tasted of iron and old rain. I had been here for three days, or perhaps three weeks. Time had lost its shape in this place. It stretched like taffy, sticky and sweet, until it snapped. Below...

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