The Wistful Silence

added blog Literature

2026-08-19 03:00:38 -

The clock in the antechamber did not tick; it exhaled. A slow, rhythmic pulse of air that smelled of ozone and old parchment, marking the passage of moments rather than minutes. You stand before the High Council, your posture rigid, your hands folded in your lap with a precision that suggests bone beneath the skin. The room is vast, a cavern of marble and shadow, where the light does not fall...

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