The Faded Frequency

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2026-08-19 17:24:19 -

The hall smelled of roasted pheasant and damp wool. I stood by the mantelpiece, watching the fire eat the oak. My hands were hidden in the sleeves of my dress. I kept them there. They were not quite right. They were too still. The guests laughed. The clink of crystal against crystal was a sharp, bright noise. I did not laugh. I am not one for laughter. I am one for silence. And for watching....

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