The Wistful Voyage

added blog Literature

2026-08-20 10:25:28 -

The glass was already cracked. I stood on the edge of the ridge. The wind bit. It was a dry, technical wind. It stripped the heat from my skin. I counted the seconds. One. Two. Three. Below, the structure waited. It was not a house. It was not a church. It was a cathedral of light. The glass tower. The locals called it the Needle. They said it hummed. They said it sang. I did not hear a song. I...

0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews