The Faded Sutra
The dream was not a dream but a siege, a siege of the mind by the architecture of the institution. Thomas Bradshaw stood in the center of the Rotunda of the Order of the Silent Bell, his hands trembling not from fear but from the sheer, crushing weight of the atmospheric pressure that the stone walls exerted upon his lungs. In the dream, the air was thick with the scent of ozone and old paper,...
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