The Wistful Crossroads
Bernadette Vidrine stood in the center of the village square, the cold biting through her thin coat, and watched the sun rise over the badlands. It was an unseasonable morning, the kind where the air felt too heavy to breathe, and everyone on the street was staring at the sky as if it had fallen. She remembered the weight of the suitcase in her hand, the way it had felt like it contained the...
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