The Wistful Mountain

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2026-08-18 18:54:58 -

The fog sat heavy on the valley floor. It smelled of wet stone and old rust. I woke in a dream of iron. The bed frame creaked. My hands shook. I looked at them. They were bare. The cold bit deep. Eleanor was gone. She had been gone for three days. Or maybe longer. Time moved slow in the house. The clock on the mantel ticked loud. It sounded like a hammer striking a nail. I sat up. The sheets...

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