The Wistful Voyage

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2026-08-20 16:49:10 -

The rain did not fall so much as it hovered, a fine grey mist that clung to the wool of my coat and the iron of the gate. I stood at the edge of the moor, the boundary line blurred by the damp. In my hand, I held the ledger. It was a heavy book, bound in cracked leather, its pages filled with the names of those who had crossed. Not crossed into the next village, or the next county. Crossed into...

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