The Distant Whispers

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2026-08-19 05:58:10 -

The rain did not fall so much as it was imposed upon the world. It was a gray curtain, wet and heavy, that pressed against the windows of the mill house. I sat in the dark, my back to the door, my hands resting on the table. The wood was slick with damp. I could feel the cold seeping through the grain, a physical weight that matched the ache in my shoulder. The bone was wrong. It had been wrong...

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