The Faded Frequency
The ink is still wet on this page when I write it, which is a lie, because I am writing from a place where time does not move in straight lines but in circles, and I am looking back at the moment the circle closed. You are sitting in the cold stone chair in the Guild Hall, and you are afraid, but you are also arrogant, because you believe that your words are a weapon that can cut the air, and...
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