The Wistful Saga
The rain lashed against the window of the actuarial office, a relentless, industrial drumming that seemed to vibrate through the floorboards and into the soles of my shoes. I sat at my desk, the leather chair creaking under the weight of a body that felt increasingly like a machine running on dry gears, and watched the clock tick toward three o’clock. My heart was a stuttering engine, a faulty...
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