The Faded Paradox
The rain had not stopped for three days. It drummed a relentless, hollow rhythm against the skylight of the archive, a sound that seemed to originate not from the sky, but from the bones of the building itself. You sat in the center of the circular room, your hands resting on the cold oak table, watching the water drip from the glass pane onto the wet stone floor below. The air smelled of damp...
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