The Wistful Voyage
The water is not water, but a thick, viscous suspension of silver dust and forgotten names, and you are suspended within it, your lungs burning with a cold that has no source. You do not know how long you have been here, drifting through this suspended moment where time has lost its linear pull and become a heavy, static weight. Around you, the air hums with a low-frequency vibration, a...
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