The Faded Frequency
The letter is damp. You remember this first, before the ink, before the words. The water has seeped into the fiber of the parchment, swelling the letters until they bleed into one another, a bruise of blue and black. You are writing to Elias, but you are not in the room. You are in the dream, the recurring one where the walls of the infirmary breathe. In the dream, the cough is a beast with...
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