The Faded Paradox
The dream was not of the house, but of the weight. Marcus lay still. The ceiling above him was white, unadorned, and indifferent. He dreamed of holding a stone. It was smooth, cold, and heavy as lead. He tried to drop it, but his hand would not open. The stone grew heavier. It crushed the bones of his palm, yet he felt no pain. Only the pressure. The absolute, crushing need to keep holding. He...
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