The Wistful Show
The rain had been falling for three days, a steady, grey curtain that blurred the edges of the world and turned the old stone mill into a place of suspended time, where the dampness seeped into the bones and the air tasted of wet wool and forgotten things. Willard sat on the floorboards, his knees drawn up to his chest, watching the water drip from the eaves into the puddle that was slowly...
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