The Distant Journey

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2026-08-24 05:40:24 -

The ink is still wet, a dark stain on the blotter that looks uncomfortably like a bruise. You press the pen down, the nib scratching against the paper with a sound that seems too loud for the empty room, and you write the date: November 14, 1912. Your hand trembles, not from the cold, though the fire has died an hour ago, but from the effort of holding the truth at bay. You are writing to your...

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