The Pale Mist

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2026-08-20 10:56:55 -

The Pale Mist

I woke from a dream that had the texture of wet wool, heavy and suffocating, where I was standing in a field of white poppies that did not move in the wind, and they were watching me with eyes made of cold iron, and I knew, with the absolute certainty that only comes in the deep architecture of sleep, that I had left something essential behind, something that defined the shape of my existence,...

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