The Wistful Silence

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2026-08-20 11:26:58 -

You are twelve years old, and you are standing in the long, cold corridor of the manor where the dust motes dance in the thin shafts of afternoon light like suspended ghosts, waiting for a wind that will never come. The air smells of wet stone and old paper, a scent that has permeated your lungs and settled in your bones, making you feel as though you are made of the same decaying matter as the...

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