The Wistful Voyage

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2026-08-23 13:24:20 -

The clay bowl sits in your hands, heavy and cold, the glaze cracked along the rim where your thumb presses. You have held it for an hour, waiting for the heat to seep back into your fingers, but the cold is persistent, a dull ache that travels up the wrist and settles in the elbow. This is the last of the winter stock, the only thing the apothecary will sell you without a council permit, and...

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