The Wistful Mountain

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2026-08-17 22:32:41 -

The tea had gone cold in the cup, a dark, stagnant pool that reflected the ceiling lights in fractured, trembling shards. I held it with both hands, the ceramic warm against my palms, a small, fragile anchor in a sea of rising fog. In the dream, the fog was not water or vapor, but something denser, a living substance that pressed against the glass of the observatory dome. Outside, the...

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