The Wistful Mountain

added blog Literature

2026-08-22 00:31:24 -

The dream was not of a mountain, though it felt like one. It was a ceiling of rusted iron, ribbed and breathing, suspended above a floor of wet coal dust. Margaret woke with the taste of smoke in her mouth, a metallic tang that coated her teeth like old blood. The room was small, a single pane of glass trembling in the wind outside, and the air was thick with the smell of damp wool and the...

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