The Wistful Crossroads

added blog Literature

2026-08-22 22:21:10 -

Elias. The name was not spoken by a voice, but by the weight of the morning light pressing against his eyelids, a physical summons that dragged him from the dark, mist-shrouded valley of Oakhaven where the withered oak stood, its branches bare and brittle as old bone. He sat up in the narrow bed, the linoleum floor beneath the mattress cold enough to seep through the thin wool of his...

0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews