The Wistful Cipher
You are the only one who knows the truth. You are the only one who built it. It sits in the center of the shop, under the single bare bulb that hums with the low, persistent buzz of a dying insect. The object is small. A cube. Black. It looks like a piece of charcoal, but it is hard. Harder than stone. Harder than the iron anvil you used to strike on before the arthritis took your hands. You...
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