The Wistful Silence

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2026-08-19 06:33:29 -

The hand was cold. It lay on the table. Pale. Still. Alistair stared. He did not breathe. The air in the chamber was thick. Dust motes danced in the shaft of light. The light was grey. The light was old. He was a scholar. He knew the history of the dead. He had written books on them. He had cataloged their bones. He had measured their skulls. He had named their diseases. He had never touched...

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