The Wistful Crossroads

added blog Literature

2026-08-20 16:15:28 -

The fog was thick. It tasted of iron and old rain. I walked. My boots were heavy. The mud sucked at my heels. I was a tanner. I smelled of lye and rot. But here, the smell was wrong. It was sweet. Cloying. Like rotting peaches left in the sun. I carried a leather satchel. Inside was a vial of ink. Black as a bruise. And a quill. I was a maker of words, though they called me a tanner. I hid the...

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