The Wistful Voyage

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2026-08-21 12:43:37 -

The air in the Atrium tasted of ozone and crushed violets. It was a thick, cloying scent that clung to the back of the throat. Elias stood at the edge of the glass floor. Below, the clouds churned in a slow, grey vortex. They were not weather. They were memory, liquefied and spinning. He held the mirror in his hands. It was cold. Colder than the stone beneath his feet. The glass was black, a...

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