The Gallery of Melting Clocks
Arthur did not create a world; he painted a fever. He had woken up in a place where the air tasted like old memories and the silence sounded like a distant orchestra tuning their instruments. He found he could manipulate the fabric of this place, but his hands were clumsy, and his mind was a kaleidoscope of broken images. He tried to build a home. He imagined a house with a red door and a...
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