The Wistful Saga

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2026-08-19 00:56:10 -

The Wistful Saga

The fire roared. It ate the wood and the shadows. Margaret sat at the edge of the table. Her hands were steady. They had always been steady. She held the bowl. It was old. The glaze was chipped. A crack ran through the bottom. Like a river. Or a vein. The room was full. Smoke hung low. The air tasted of pine and fear. People whispered. They looked at her. Their eyes were sharp. They were...

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