The Wistful Mirror

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2026-08-19 01:34:39 -

The iron lungs of the foundry had been wheezing since dawn, a rhythmic, metallic respiration that seemed to pull the very air from the lungs of the men who worked within its cavernous, soot-blackened belly, and I stood at the edge of the molten pour, watching the orange river of liquid steel flow into the molds with the detached, clinical precision of a surgeon who has long since stopped...

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