The Wistful Mountain

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2026-08-21 20:57:24 -

The dream is not a dream but a fever that has settled into the marrow of your bones, a heavy, wet thing that drapes over the city like a shroud made of gray wool and stale rain, and you wake, or perhaps you never truly slept, with the taste of copper and iron in your mouth, the metallic tang of a wound that does not exist on the skin but festers in the center of your chest where your heart...

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