The Faded Paradox
The dream was not of darkness, but of a room filled with white light so intense it burned the eyes. In that blinding expanse, there was no floor, no ceiling, only a single chair. A man sat in it, his hands folded in his lap, his face a void of features. He did not breathe. He did not move. He simply was, a monument to stillness in the chaos of the dream. Arthur Penhaligon woke with a gasp, his...
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