The Distant Whispers

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2026-08-19 15:37:36 -

The smell of ozone and wet pine hung heavy in the air, a metallic tang that coated the back of my throat and refused to be washed away. I stood in the center of the clearing, my boots sinking into the moss, which was not green but a deep, bruised purple, pulsing faintly like a vein. Around me, the trees were not trees but twisted pillars of gray stone that had once been wood, frozen in the act...

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