The Wistful Cipher
The rain tapped against the glass. A steady, rhythmic drumming. I sat in the office. The clock ticked. It was loud. Too loud. I watched the second hand move. Tick. Tick. Tick. Each second was a theft. A small robbery. I am old. My hands shake. They tremble over the files. Paper crinkles. I hear it. A dry, skeletal sound. Like bones breaking. I am the Head of Archives. A title. An empty shell. I...
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