The Distant Journey

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2026-08-20 10:46:21 -

The dream always began with the sound of scratching. It was not the scratch of a mouse, nor the tick of a clock. It was the deep, resonant rasp of a quill against parchment. A sound that seemed to vibrate in the teeth. In the dream, the air was thick with the scent of ink and old paper. The room was dim, lit only by a single tallow candle that burned with a steady, blue flame. Walter sat at the...

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