The Wistful Voyage

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2026-08-19 15:41:03 -

The rain on the slate roof was a drum. It kept time. I counted the beats. One, two, three. The candle sputtered. The wax pooled black and cold. I did not move. I could not move. My hands were tied to the armrests of the chair. The ropes were thick. They bit into my wrists. The room was small. It smelled of wet stone and old iron. I looked at the window. The glass was dark. Beyond it, the garden...

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