The Faded Paradox
I woke to the sound of bees. Not the low, industrious hum of summer, but a sharp, stinging vibration that seemed to vibrate in the marrow of my bones. I lay still in the narrow bed, the linen stiff with damp, listening. The dream had been vivid, as they often were these days. I was standing in a field of blackthorn, the thorns tearing at my hands, and I was trying to catch a bird that kept...
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