The Faded Paradox
The wind off the North Sea had a weight to it. It pressed against the glass of the lighthouse keeper’s quarters, a constant, cold thumb testing the seals. I sat at the heavy oak desk, my fingers wrapped around a mug of tea that had gone lukewarm an hour ago. The rain lashed the windows in diagonal sheets, blurring the world into a smear of grey and black. Outside, the cliffs stood silent,...
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