The Wistful Mountain

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2026-08-22 14:01:31 -

You wake with the taste of iron and old rain on your tongue, the dream still clinging to the back of your throat like a fishhook that refuses to pull free. It was a dream of the house, or perhaps the house was a dream of you, because the walls breathed in that specific, stifling way they only do when the foundation is settling into the mud of the cellar. You are standing in the kitchen of the...

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