The Faded Paradox
The fog swallowed the station. It did not roll in. It rose. A thick, wet gray wall. It pressed against the glass. You stood on the platform. You were alone. The train had not arrived. The air smelled of coal and damp wool. Your coat was heavy. Your hands were cold. You waited. You were a scholar. Of things that did not exist. Or perhaps they did. You knew this. You always knew this. The...
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