The Distant Whispers

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2026-08-21 20:33:25 -

The banquet was loud. Not with music. With chewing. With the wet, rhythmic sound of tongues against teeth. We sat in a long hall that smelled of damp stone and burnt sugar. The walls breathed. I watched them expand and contract. A slow, gray pulse. I am a cartographer of edges. My job is to map the limits. The border between here and there. I wear a suit of gray wool. It itches. The wool is...

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