The Wistful Silence

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2026-08-17 17:18:12 -

You wake with the taste of iron and old paper in your mouth, a metallic tang that coats the back of your throat. It is the taste of the ledger. You are back in the shop, the air thick with the scent of varnish and dried ink, the floorboards creaking under the weight of your standing. The clock on the wall, a heavy oak thing with a face like a sleeping eye, ticks with a rhythm that feels less...

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