The Wistful Cipher
"Look at the ink, Thomas. Look at how it bleeds into the fiber, doesn't it? Like a bruise under the skin, like a memory that refuses to fade, just sitting there, dark and wet and undeniable, waiting for you to press your thumb against it and feel the dampness of the truth seep into your own blood." The voice was not my wife’s, though it carried the precise cadence of her, that particular,...
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