The Wistful Silence

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2026-08-20 02:13:31 -

The mud was black and thick, sucking at our boots with a wet, gluttonous sound that seemed to echo in the hollows of our chests more than in the air around us. We were in the trench, that long, rotting ribcage of the war, and the rain had not stopped for three days, turning the ground into a soup of earth and rust and the lingering, sweet scent of cordite. My name is Silas, and I was a...

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