The Faded Bouquet
The first thing you notice, in the hour before the world unravels, is not the sound but the silence, a heavy, woolen quiet that presses against your eardrums until they ache with a dull, throbbing pain that feels less like an injury and more like a memory of one, as if your skull has forgotten how to house your thoughts and has become a hollow drum waiting for a strike that never comes. You are...
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