The Wistful Cipher

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2026-08-20 03:05:36 -

"You look terrible, Eliza." My father sat in the armchair, his back to the fire. The room was small. Stone walls. Dark wood. The air smelled of damp wool and old paper. I stood by the window. I watched the rain. It fell in sheets. Gray. Endless. "I look fine," I said. "You lie." He did not turn around. "Your hands are shaking. Your eyes are wide. You have not slept. I can see it. You are a...

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