The Wistful Witness

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2026-08-19 05:21:31 -

Margaret’s dream was not a dream of flying or falling, but of a specific, cold, blue silence that smelled of ozone and old paper, a silence so absolute it had weight, pressing against her eardrums like deep water, and in this silence stood the house, her house, the one she had paid for with the blood of her youth and the sweat of her hands, but the house was wrong, for the windows were not...

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