The Distant Promise
The glass is heavy in your hand. It is a tumbler, thick and clouded with age, holding a sliver of amber liquid that catches the dim light of the office. You do not drink it. You only hold it. The weight anchors you to the chair, to the desk, to the suffocating silence of the room. Outside, the rain taps against the windowpane, a frantic, rhythmic drumming that does little to drown out the sound...
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