The Wistful Witness

added blog Literature

2026-08-21 22:23:22 -

The gate was open. I stood before it. The wood was black with rot. The iron hinges were green with age. I was seven. I held a stone. It was cold. It was rough. It cut my palm. I did not care. Behind me, the village slept. They saw me. They spat. They called me a curse. They said my blood was bad. They said I brought the blight. I was a mirror. I showed them their ugliness. They hated the glass....

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