The Faded Shield
The dream was a corridor of endless, sterile white, where the air smelled of antiseptic and old paper, and in the center of this blinding void stood a shield, not of metal but of woven human voices, a dense tapestry of arguments and pleas that Margot had spent thirty years trying to unravel, and she stood before it with her hands outstretched, her fingers trembling not from fear but from the...
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