The Wistful Throne

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2026-08-17 13:43:42 -

The rain hits the tin roof like gravel. You count the drops. One. Two. Three. It is a habit. A rhythm. The shop is empty. The air smells of sawdust and stale coffee. You are alone. The clock on the wall ticks. It is loud. It is too loud. You are a woodworker. You make chairs. Good chairs. Strong chairs. But you are not a carpenter anymore. Not really. You are a man trapped in a box. The box is...

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