The Wistful Letter

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2026-08-20 13:59:16 -

The rain did not fall so much as it invaded the cellar, a gray, persistent mist that seeped through the cracks in the limestone foundation and settled into your bones. You sat on the cold stone floor, your back against the wall, and watched the water gather in the hollows of the uneven ground. It was a Tuesday, or perhaps a Wednesday; time had become a fluid thing, measured only by the rhythm...

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