The Distant Wound

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2026-08-20 06:44:51 -

The Distant Wound

The house did not burn. That was the first lie. Eleanor stood in the center of the living room, her hands trembling at her sides. The air smelled of wet ash and copper. Her mother, Margaret, sat in the high-backed chair by the window. She did not look up. She held a cup of tea that had gone cold an hour ago. The steam had long since vanished, leaving only a grey ring on the saucer. "You are...

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