The Wistful Voyage

added blog Literature

2026-08-19 20:17:41 -

The mist clung to the valley like a burial shroud, thick and gray, swallowing the stones of the old chapel. Inside, the air tasted of damp moss and old iron. Elias sat on the cold flagstones, his hands bound not by rope, but by the weight of what he knew. He was a prisoner of his own sight. For three days, the fog had not lifted. It pressed against the glass, a living thing, breathing against...

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