The Wistful Letter
The rain did not fall so much as it invaded, a cold, viscous sheet that turned the windowpane of Professor Elias Thorne’s study into a weeping mirror, distorting the silhouette of the man who stood before it with the ferocity of a storm trapped inside glass. Elias pressed his palm against the cold surface, his knuckles white, the skin of his hand peeling away from the bone in a slow, terrible...
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