The Wistful Skyline

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2026-08-22 10:48:06 -

The rain had not stopped for three days, a persistent, grey sheet that turned the clay roads of Blackwood Valley into sucking mud and made the air taste of wet stone and rotting pine. I am writing this in the small hours of the morning, the candle guttering in the draft from the window, trying to make sense of the last week before the ink runs dry or my hands do. For six months, since Julian’s...

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