The Wistful Crossroads

added blog Literature

2026-08-21 11:55:32 -

The sky split open like a rotten egg. Black fluid rained down. It smelled of iron and old blood. We stood on the platform at Ashworth Junction. The fog was thick. It ate the rails. It ate the light. I held my rifle tight. My hands shook. Not from cold. From fear. Thomas stood beside me. His coat was grey. His eyes were calm. He looked at the sky. He did not blink. The fluid hit the ground. It...

0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews