The Wistful Crossroads

added blog Literature

2026-08-21 11:52:47 -

The coffee tasted of rust and burnt sugar. It was the last cup. I knew it was the last because the tin was empty. Because the sun had dipped below the ridge. Because my hands were shaking so hard the ceramic rattled against the saucer. We were in the wilds. The kind of wild that doesn’t care about your rank or your name. Just the wind and the dirt and the cold that settles in your bones....

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