The Distant Ghost
The pain begins in the marrow, a deep, structural hum that feels less like an injury and more like a recalibration of your center of gravity. You are standing in the atrium of the Hall, a space that defies the architectural logic of the outside world, where the ceiling is a vaulted expanse of dark wood and the air tastes of ozone and old paper. The floor beneath your feet is not stone but a...
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