The Wistful Witness

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2026-08-19 02:08:37 -

The hammer struck the wood. Thud. Dust rose. Edmund wiped his brow. The sweat stung. “Is it done?” asked the boy. “No,” Edmund said. His voice was rough. Like sand on stone. “Not yet.” They stood in the cellar. Stone walls. Cold air. The smell of wet earth and old oak. This was the workshop. Or what was left of it. The building groaned. It sighed with every step. Edmund was a carpenter. He...

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