The Wistful Cipher
The rain had not stopped for three days. It drummed against the single pane of glass in the cellar window, a rhythmic, wet tapping that sounded like fingernails scraping against wood. I sat on the cold stone floor, my back against the damp wall, and watched the water drip from the eaves outside. Inside, the air was thick with the smell of mildew and old paper, a scent that had long since...
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