The Wistful Crossroads

added blog Literature

2026-08-19 08:26:01 -

The rain did not fall. It hung. It was a curtain of grey mist that swallowed the city, turning the steel and glass of downtown into ghostly sketches. We stood in the atrium of the Meridian Tower. The air smelled of ozone and wet wool. I watched the water droplets slide down the floor-to-ceiling windows. They moved slowly. Deliberately. Margaret Holloway stood by the edge of the glass. She wore...

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