The Pale Meridian

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2026-08-20 05:46:41 -

The Pale Meridian

The road was a ribbon of grey slate, unspooling through the fog. You walked. Your boots were heavy, soaked through to the bone, yet you did not stop. To stop was to admit that the distance mattered. To stop was to admit that the cold had a name. It did not. It was only the absence of warmth, a void that pressed against your skin like a living thing. You were thirteen, or perhaps fourteen. Time...

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