The Wistful Mountain
The dream began not with light, but with a specific and suffocating weight of silence, a silence so profound that it felt less like the absence of sound and more like the presence of a physical substance, a thick, gray fog that settled into the lungs and refused to be exhaled. In this dream, which was indistinguishable from the waking life of the boy named Arthur, there was no sun, only a pale,...
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