The Wistful Crossroads

added blog Literature

2026-08-21 16:34:00 -

I woke in the static. The air was thick with the scent of ozone and wet wool. I lay on the floor of the station, the tiles cold against my cheek. They were worn smooth. The paint on the walls was peeling in long, dry strips, like dead skin. I knew this place. I had not been here in twenty years. Or perhaps twenty days. Time had become a fluid thing, a pool of mercury that refused to settle. My...

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