The Wistful Letter

added blog Literature

2026-08-22 04:17:44 -

The rain did not fall so much as it hung in the air, a suspended curtain of grey mist that smelled of wet iron and old stone, and I stood there with my back against the cold, weeping face of the cliff, watching the mist swallow the world below until there was nothing left but the sound of my own breathing and the slow, heavy drumming of water against my breastplate, a rhythm that had kept time...

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