The Faded Attic
The dream was always the same, a visceral and suffocating repetition that left Elias gasping for air that felt too thin, too cold, and too distant to sustain the heavy, laboring weight of his lungs. In the dream, Mara was not a woman but a book, her skin the texture of vellum, her veins the inked lines of a script that bled when he touched her, and he would wake with the taste of iron in his...
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