The Wistful Witness

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2026-08-20 14:52:22 -

The fog pressed against the glass of the attic window. It was a solid thing. A grey wall. I sat in the chair. The chair creaked. The house was old. The house was dying. The walls sweated. The floorboards groaned. I am Margaret Holloway. I am the keeper. I am the prisoner. The building is a cathedral of brick and iron. It stands alone on the hill. It has no neighbors. It has no friends. It is a...

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