The Faded Paradox
You wake in the dark. Not a sleepless dark. A living dark. It presses against your eyes. It tastes of iron and wet stone. You are standing. You do not know when you started to stand. Your legs are stiff. Your joints crack. The air is cold. It bites your skin. You are in a hall. Stone walls. High ceilings. Dust hangs in the air. It moves without wind. You are a scholar. You know this. You know...
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