The Wistful Witness

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2026-08-20 20:19:50 -

The dream was always the same. I stood in the courtyard of the old estate, the air thick with the smell of wet stone and decay. It was night, or perhaps it was day, for the light did not change, it just hung there, gray and suffocating. I saw her. Eleanor. She was standing by the iron gate, her back to me, wearing the blue dress she had worn on the day they took me. In the dream, I ran toward...

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