The Wistful Mountain

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2026-08-18 02:23:56 -

The glass was cold. I held it in my hand, feeling the condensation weep against my skin. Outside, the fog rolled in from the harbor, thick and grey, swallowing the city whole. Inside the office, the silence was heavy. It pressed against the walls. It pressed against my chest. I looked at the desk. The mahogany was polished to a mirror sheen. It reflected my face. A stranger stared back. Pale...

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