The Wistful Cipher
I awoke with the taste of iron and rust on my tongue, a metallic tang that coated the roof of my mouth and persisted through the first few sips of the lukewarm coffee that Margaret had left on the nightstand, her hand having brushed my cheek with a tenderness so profound it felt like a physical blow, a primal instinct that bypassed all reason and struck directly at the core of my being, for in...
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