The Wistful Mountain
The wind did not blow through the archway of the Wistful Mountain; it exhaled, a low, resonant sigh that smelled of wet limestone and old grief, curling around Elias’s ankles as he crouched in the shadow of the masonry. It was the year of our Lord 2024, yet the sanctuary stood in a fold of reality that time seemed to forget, a place where the architecture wore down not by weather but by the...
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