The Wistful Show
"Is it time yet, Thomas?" The voice was small. It came from the hallway, muffled by the heavy oak door of the study. Thomas did not turn. He stared at the wall. The wallpaper was peeling, a long, slow unraveling of floral patterns that looked like veins in the skin of the house. "Almost," he said. He was a large man. Broad shoulders. A face carved by wind and time, though the wind here was only...
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