The Wistful Voyage

added blog Literature

2026-08-20 18:20:17 -

The rain on the cobblestones of London did not fall; it accumulated, a heavy, gray sludge that soaked through the soles of my boots and into the marrow of my bones. I was walking, or perhaps I was being carried by the current of the crowd, toward the docks where the air smelled of brine, rotting fish, and the sharp, metallic tang of old iron. My name was Elias, though I had not spoken it aloud...

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