The Wistful Crossroads

added blog Literature

2026-08-20 08:35:41 -

The rain did not fall so much as it hung, a heavy grey curtain woven from the breath of the mountains, pressing against the single pane of glass in the watchtower. Inside, the air was stale, thick with the scent of damp wool and old paper. Sergeant Elias Thorne sat at the edge of the desk, his hands resting on the surface, fingers curled slightly around the hilt of a sword that had not seen...

0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews