The Wistful Letter

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2026-08-21 22:00:16 -

The iron pot sat in the center of the table, black and heavy as a coffin. It was the only object in the room that did not tremble when the wind pushed against the warped windowpanes of the manor. Outside, the coal smog of the valley hung low, a thick, yellowish shroud that smelled of sulfur and wet ash. Inside, the air was still, preserved by the sheer weight of silence and the presence of two...

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