The Wistful Mountain

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2026-08-23 13:37:03 -

The hammer struck the nail, and the wood splintered under the impact. I was holding the nail in my teeth, my hand slick with sweat and the dust of the old plaster, when the echo came. It was not a sound, exactly, but a pressure behind my ears, a duplication of the strike that arrived a fraction of a second too late. I pulled the nail from my mouth, spit the wood shavings onto the floor, and...

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