The Wistful Witness

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2026-08-20 12:02:13 -

The iron taste of the mine air clings to your tongue, a metallic residue that no amount of spitting or rinsing can scrub away, settling into the crevices of your gums and the back of your throat like a fine, gritty dust that is slowly, inexorably, becoming part of your very flesh. You are standing in the narrow, dripping corridor of the Blackwood Colliery, a place where the light has died three...

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