The Wistful Dinner
You have always been the one who walks ahead, not because you are brave, but because the path behind you is already dark. The forest floor is thick with the rot of last autumn’s leaves, a carpet of brown and black that swallows the sound of your boots. You are walking toward the house, the one that stands on the ridge above the village of Oakhaven, a place where the air tastes of iron and old...
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