The Distant Nightmare
The dream is always the same. It is a room with no doors, only windows made of thick, dirty glass that look out onto a grey nothing. You are sitting on a wooden chair that is too high for you, and your feet do not touch the floor. In the corner stands a figure. It is not a person. It is a shape made of shadow and wet wool, and it is breathing. You know you should wake up. You know that if you...
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