The Wistful Saga
The dream did not begin with a thought, but with a sensation of weight, a heavy, wet pressure settling into the marrow of his bones, as if he were being slowly submerged in a river that had no bottom and no current, only a thick, viscous silence that pressed against his eardrums and squeezed the air from his lungs until he could no longer distinguish where his skin ended and the water began. He...
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