For years, I mistook silence for mercy. I thought my hands were too clumsy to hold the stories my heart carried. It aches to know I may never tell them as beautifully as they deserve, but it aches even more to leave them unwritten. So, imperfect as they are, I'm setting them free.
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Story by ghostinkquill
Late Night Conversations
For two centuries, Bidziil Evermore has mourned the wife he lost during childbirth.
Across town, Monroe Hollo...
