The Wistful Mountain

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2026-08-18 02:40:33 -

You wake with the taste of iron on your tongue. It is thick and cold, like blood from a split lip. You are in a dream, but the floor is solid beneath your boots. The room is high-ceilinged, paneled in dark oak that smells of old varnish and regret. A single window looks out onto a courtyard of gray stone. Rain taps against the glass. A soft, persistent rhythm. You know this room. You have lived...

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