The Wistful Crossroads

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2026-08-20 04:44:27 -

I dreamed that the snow was not white but a bruised purple, the color of a hematoma deep within the muscle, and I was walking through a forest of iron trees, their branches heavy with rust that clinked like the chains of a manacle, and I knew with a certainty that did not require thought that I was being watched by something that had once been alive but had been stripped of its breath and...

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