The Wistful Voyage

added blog Literature

2026-08-20 03:12:37 -

The night the house burned, I did not scream. I stood in the corridor, my hands pressed flat against the cold stone floor, and watched the flames lick at the heavy oak doors of my study. I was seven years old, and the world was ending with the quiet precision of a clock unwinding. My father sat in his armchair by the hearth, a figure carved from shadow and smoke, his eyes closed as if in prayer...

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