The Wistful Crossroads
The dream came first. It was a house of smoke and iron. Margaret stood in the hallway. The floorboards groaned. She was young. Her hands were clean. The air smelled of coal dust and lavender. She looked at the window. The glass was black. Beyond the glass, the world was ending. She turned away. She walked to the door. The door was locked. She did not know why. She pushed against it. The wood...
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