The Faded Quadrant
The dream is a house made of wet paper and iron, where the walls breathe with a rhythmic, wet sound that mimics your own failing lungs. You are standing in the center of a vast, circular hall, the kind found in old government buildings or perhaps the gilded interiors of a decaying empire, but here the gold leaf is peeling away to reveal the raw, gray concrete beneath. In your hands, you hold...
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