The Pale Exile

a adăugat un sunet Literature

2026-08-25 08:34:20 -

The Pale Exile

The port of Târgu Mureș did not sleep, it merely shifted its weight, the cranes groaning against the wind while the salt marshes turned silver under the low, industrial haze. The tax boat had arrived three days early, its hull cutting a black line through the thawing water, and the whole town smelled of wet wool and rusted iron. I stood at the edge of the dock, my hands deep in my coat pockets,...

0 Commentarii 0 Distribuiri 1 Views 0 previzualizare