The Wistful Silence
The dream did not arrive with the softness of a whisper or the gentle intrusion of a thought, but rather with the visceral, grinding weight of a millstone pressing against the ribcage, a sensation so immediate and physical that Thomas Bradshaw woke not to the pale, graying light of his cell but to the absolute certainty that his left hand had ceased to exist, that the flesh and bone and sinew...
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