The Wistful Show
The fog sits heavy on the stone floor. It is wet. It is cold. You feel it in your teeth. You feel it in the marrow of your bones. You are not here. You are in a dream. The dream is a cell. The cell is dark. The walls are black stone. They are old. They are wet. You hold the sword. It is your hand. It is your body. You cannot separate the steel from the flesh. The hilt is worn smooth. It fits...
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