The Wistful Crossroads

added blog Literature

2026-08-20 23:35:18 -

The dream began with the sound of wet clay shifting underfoot. It was a sound I knew well, though I could not name the place. I was standing in a corridor. The walls were made of packed earth, dark and damp. The air smelled of mold and old iron. I was holding a lantern. The glass was cracked. The flame inside was blue and cold. It did not warm me. It only showed me the way. I walked forward....

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