The Faded Guest

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2026-08-18 02:45:44 -

The Faded Guest

The dream began with the smell of wet iron and old blood, a scent that clung to the back of my throat like a foul taste. I was standing in the Hall of Mirrors, not the one in my childhood home, but the vast, cold expanse of the Royal Palace, where the air was thin and the silence was so heavy it pressed against my eardrums. In the center of the room, suspended by chains that seemed to be made...

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