The Wistful Crossroads

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2026-08-20 09:24:09 -

The blood ran down his wrist. Thick. Red. It dripped onto the cobblestones. Cold stone. The blade was heavy. The enemy was not a man. It was a shape. A shadow with teeth. Hale stood in the gate. The iron bars were wet. He gripped the sword. His knuckles were white. The air smelled of rust and rain. He did not look up. He did not look back. The bell tower loomed above. The clock face was broken....

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