The Wistful Crossroads

added blog Literature

2026-08-25 09:34:13 -

Act I I was scraping the black mold from the grain sacks when the roots began to pulse against my boots. The smell hit me first, a thick, wet rot that tasted of copper and old blood, rising from the soil of the courtyard where the Wistful Crossroads tree stood. I am Giovanni Vitale, thirty-two years old, and I have held the border post in San Marco for six years, but I had never felt the earth...

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