The Wistful Crossroads

added blog Literature

2026-08-21 19:16:41 -

The dream began with the smell of wet wool and rot. I stood in a corridor that stretched endlessly into the dark, the floorboards black with age and damp. At the far end, a single light burned. It was not a flame. It was a moth. A large, grey thing, its wings tattered and thin as parchment, pulsing with a faint, sickly luminescence. I reached for it. My hand closed on nothing. The air was cold....

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