The Distant Affair
The rain had been falling for three days, a persistent, gray curtain that turned the cobblestones of the old district into mirrors of the weeping sky, and I stood in the doorway of my workshop, watching the water drip from the eaves in a rhythm that felt less like weather and more like the slow, inevitable leaking of time from the city’s bones, my hands still stained with the indigo ink of the...
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