The Faded Paradox
You are standing in a room that does not exist, or perhaps it is the only room that ever has. The walls are made of a pale, fibrous material that pulses faintly, like the lining of a throat. It is soft to the touch, warm, and it breathes against your palms with a rhythm that matches your own. You know this place. You have been here before, in the quiet hours between one heartbeat and the next,...
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