The Wistful Letter

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2026-08-18 16:29:50 -

The rain had not ceased for three days, a relentless, gray curtain that turned the cobblestones of the village into slick, dark mirrors, reflecting the fractured faces of those who dared to walk the streets. I stood at the threshold of the old Blackwood Manor, the wood damp and rotting beneath my fingertips, sensing the structural decay of the building not as a physical weakness but as a moral...

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