The Wistful Witness

added blog Literature

2026-08-19 05:26:19 -

The dream began with the smell of coal dust and wet wool. It was a sensory prelude, thick and suffocating, before the light faded in and revealed the room. I was ten years old, or perhaps twelve. Time did not have much meaning in that gray, soot-stained attic. The air was cold, biting at the tips of my ears, but I did not feel the chill. I only felt the weight of the object in my hands. It was...

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