The Wistful Saga

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2026-08-22 01:32:20 -

The Wistful Saga

The shelling did not begin with a sound, but with a taste. It was the metallic tang of iron and old blood, coating the back of your tongue before the first cannonade shattered the morning air. You were seven, perhaps eight, though time had become a fluid, viscous thing that pooled in the hollows of your boots. The world outside the cellar was no longer the world of milk and bread and the soft,...

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