The Wistful Letter
The dream is always the same. It is the sound of glass breaking in a deep well. You hear it before you see it. A sharp, clean fracture. Then the silence that follows is heavier than the noise. You are in the glass. You are the shard. You are the dust. This is the warning. This is the truth you carry in your marrow, a cold iron weight beneath your ribs. You wake in the narrow cot in the basement...
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