The Wistful Witness

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2026-08-19 01:29:24 -

The air tastes of copper and rot. You stand at the edge of the banquet hall, where the tables stretch out like the ribs of a dead whale. The candles burn low. Their light is yellow, thick, and trembling. You are here because you must be. You are here because the garden calls to you. It calls in a voice that sounds like your own. The feast is a trap. The guests wear white. They smile with mouths...

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