The Wistful Cipher
The rain lashed against the stained glass of the library, distorting the light into violent, shifting shards of blue and amber, and I was losing the argument, losing the house, and losing myself in the same breath. My sister, Eleanor, stood by the fireplace, her hands clasped tightly around a porcelain cup that had long since gone cold, her knuckles white against the delicate rim. She was not...
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