The Wistful Mountain

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2026-08-17 17:14:57 -

I woke with the taste of copper and cold stone on my tongue. The air was thick, heavy with the scent of damp wool and old paper. I was standing in a library that did not exist. The shelves rose like cliffs, vanishing into a darkness that breathed. "Margaret." The voice was soft. It came from the shadows between the rows. I knew it. I had known it for thirty years. "David," I said. My voice...

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