The Wistful Voyage
The ice breaks first. It shatters under the weight of the world, a sound like a bone snapping inside a skull. You are standing on the deck of the ferry, your small hands gripping the cold railing until your knuckles turn white. Below you, the dark water churns, swallowing the chunks of frozen lake. The air is sharp, biting at your nose, stealing the warmth from your blood. You are seven years...
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