The Wistful Cipher
The ink was already dry on the confession when you realized you had signed it. It was a Tuesday, or perhaps a Wednesday, the days in the town of Oakhaven blurring into a single, gray smear of suspicion and damp wool. You stood in the center of the community hall, the floorboards creaking under the weight of your guilt, while the eyes of your neighbors, people who had known you since you were a...
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