The Wistful Voyage

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2026-08-19 14:02:02 -

The air in the hall tasted of yeast and stale beeswax, a thick, cloying sweetness that clung to the back of the throat. I stood near the heavy oak table, my hands resting on the polished wood, feeling the grain beneath my fingertips like the pulse of a sleeping animal. Around me, the village gathered. They were a sea of wool and linen, a murmuring tide of voices that rose and fell in the rhythm...

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