The Wistful Mirror

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2026-08-17 11:29:04 -

The rain had not stopped for three days, and the house had begun to smell of wet wool and old paper, a scent that clung to the back of my throat like a persistent, uninvited guest. I sat in the study, the room that had once been my father’s, now empty of him but heavy with the ghost of his authority, and I watched the water drip from the eaves into the garden below. The garden was a tangle of...

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