The Wistful Letter

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2026-08-18 20:50:16 -

I woke with the taste of iron on my tongue. The room was dark. A single window let in the gray slush of a London dawn. Rain hammered the glass. I was not in my bed. I was in the cellar. The stone walls wept cold dampness. My hands were bound. Not with rope. With wire. Thin, copper wire. It bit into my wrists. It pulsed with a heat that felt alive. I tried to move. The wire tightened. A scream...

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