The Wistful Mirror

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2026-08-20 12:37:33 -

The rain did not fall so much as it hung, a grey curtain drawn tight against the high, arched windows of the sanctuary, blurring the world outside into a smear of wet stone and dying light. I sat on the cold flagstones, my hands bound not by rope but by the sheer, crushing weight of my own history, and I watched the water trace its slow, inevitable path down the glass. It was a Tuesday, or...

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