The Wistful Dinner

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2026-08-20 09:41:07 -

You are not in your bed. You are standing in a room made of fog. The walls breathe. They expand and contract with a slow, rhythmic heave, like the lungs of a sleeping giant. The air is thick, tasting of copper and old rain. You are wearing your uniform. The fabric is wet. It clings to your shoulders, heavy with a dampness that has no source. You look down at your hands. They are steady. They...

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