The Wistful Skyline
You walk, and the soles of your feet, which are not merely skin but a living map of the suffering you have endured, press into the soft, damp earth of a forest that exists in the fold between one breath and the next, a realm where the air tastes of ozone and old iron and the light does not come from the sun but from the pulsing, bioluminescent veins that run through the bark of the trees like...
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