The Pale Bridge

added blog Literature

2026-08-20 20:29:53 -

The Pale Bridge

I woke with the taste of iron and old rain on my tongue, the dream still clinging to my eyelids like wet gauze. In the dream, the bridge was not made of stone or timber, but of a thousand whispering voices, a pale, translucent membrane stretched across the chasm of the valley, and I was standing on it, my boots sinking into the soft, screaming material, each step dissolving the ground beneath...

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