The Wistful Silence
The banquet hall was not built of stone or wood but of suspended, breathing light, a cathedral of luminescence that pulsed with the slow, rhythmic throb of a heart that had forgotten how to stop, and I stood at the edge of this impossible expanse, my fingers trembling not from fear but from the sheer, crushing weight of the data I carried in my mind, a hard drive of memories that burned against...
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