The Wistful Silence

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2026-08-19 23:18:35 -

The clock on the wall ticks. It is a heavy sound. A wooden pendulum swings. Left. Right. The office is cold. Stone walls. High ceilings. Dust motes dance in the single shaft of light. You sit at the desk. The wood is scarred. Old marks. Deep gouges. You trace one with your finger. It is a scratch. A mistake. Or a mark of time. You look at the object in front of you. It is small. A ceramic bowl....

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