The Distant Nightmare
The dream began not with sound or image, but with the taste of iron and old dust, a flavor that coated the back of Elias Thorne’s throat and refused to be swallowed, settling into the hollows of his teeth with the weight of something long buried. He was standing in a library that did not exist in any catalog, a vast, spiraling structure of dark oak and stained glass that seemed to breathe, its...
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