The Distant Clue
The dream is always the same, a gray and endless corridor where the floorboards creak under the weight of ghosts who do not wish to be remembered. You are walking toward a door that is slightly ajar, and through the gap, you see your own face reflected in a pane of glass that is not there. The face is older than yours, lined with a fatigue that you have not yet earned, and the mouth is moving,...
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