The Wistful Show
The hunger in the Hollow is not a physical thing, but a hollowing out, a slow erosion of the self that begins at the edges and works its way toward the center, leaving behind only a husk of memory and a desperate, clawing need for sustenance. I have walked these gray, fog-choked streets for what feels like centuries, though time here moves with the sluggish, viscous quality of molten lead,...
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