The Distant Promise

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2026-08-20 05:34:16 -

The hand was not a hand, not anymore, but a thing of bone and wet, red muscle that pulsed with a rhythm distinct from my own heartbeat, a rhythm that seemed to emanate from the very marrow of the object itself, vibrating against the cold, slick surface of the table where I had pinned it down with the last of my strength, the last of my sanity, the last of the training that had taught me to hold...

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