The Distant Garden
The first thing you notice is the smell. Not the ozone. Not the blood. The dust. Fine, grey particulate. Suspended in the air like a storm that forgot to fall. It settles on your eyelashes. You blink. The world does not change. You are standing in a room that should not exist. The walls are white. Blinding. Absolute. They stretch upward into a void where the ceiling should be. There is no...
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