The Wistful Letter

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2026-08-17 12:54:49 -

The rain did not fall so much as it descended, a grey curtain of needles that slicked the cobblestones of the courtyard until they shone like wet obsidian, reflecting the distorted, jagged faces of the onlookers who pressed against the iron gates. I held my rifle not with the rigid precision of a soldier who expects to kill, but with the trembling caution of a man holding a bird that might...

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