The Faded Sutra
You sit in the chair that has no legs. It floats an inch above the cold stone floor. The dust does not settle around you. It hangs in the air like suspended breath. You are a scholar. You have spent forty years studying the old texts. You think you know the truth. You are wrong. The room is vast. The walls are made of mirrors. They do not reflect your face. They reflect your fear. You feel it...
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