The Wistful Letter
You stand in the dark. The room is cold. The floorboards creak under your weight. They are old wood. Oak. They have held this house for a century. You are the master here. You are the merchant. You sell things. You sell trust. You sell silence. The walls are high. The ceiling is higher. The air tastes of dust and iron. A knock at the door. You do not move. You do not breathe. The knocking comes...
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