The Wistful Mirror

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2026-08-21 21:34:52 -

The dream is not a dream but a corridor of polished obsidian, stretching out before me like a throat waiting to swallow the sun, and I am running, my feet bare against the cold, slick floor, the sound of my breath a ragged, wet thing in the silence, and the walls are breathing with me, expanding and contracting in a slow, rhythmic pulse that matches the frantic hammering of my own heart, until...

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