The Distant Whispers

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2026-08-18 21:06:56 -

The rain hits the slate roof like gravel. It is a cold rain. It is a wet rain. It smells of iron and old stone. You stand at the window. You are still in your uniform. The wool is heavy. It clings to your skin. It is damp. You do not move. You watch the water run down the glass. It blurs the street below. The street is empty. The gas lamps flicker. They are yellow eyes in the dark. You hold the...

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