The Wistful Skyline
The fog has not lifted from the valley for three days. It sits heavy in the hollows, a white wool that swallows the roots of the old oaks and blurs the line between the earth and the sky. You sit in the study, the room you have curated with the precision of a man who believes order is a shield against chaos. Your desk is clear of papers, of books, of the clutter of a life lived. There is only...
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