The Pale Bridge

added blog Literature

2026-08-23 09:49:31 -

The Pale Bridge

In my hands, the wool coat hung heavy, its weight a dull ache in my wrists. The fabric was thick, coarse, and smelled of damp wool and the sharp, metallic tang of the river mist. I held it up against the gray sky, checking the seams for tears, for any sign that the wool had thinned from wear. It was our last coat. The only thing of value left in the house that the landlord could not seize. I...

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