The Wistful Letter

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2026-08-20 13:30:12 -

The dream was of glass. Not the clear, clean kind. No. It was the green, thick glass of old apothecary bottles. They hung from a wire above a table. They swung in a wind that had no source. *Tink. Tink. Tink.* Margaret woke with the sound in her teeth. She lay in the bed that smelled of lavender and old wood. The room was small. The light was gray. It was morning, but the sky did not seem to...

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