The Wistful Silence

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2026-08-23 10:29:07 -

The ink refused to stay. I dipped the quill, a goose feather stiff with age, and pressed it to the parchment. The letters formed, sharp and black, but as I pulled the quill back, the marks faded like breath on glass. I tried again. The same erasure. My hand trembled, not from cold, but from the hollow ache in my skull where my name used to be. I am Elias. I try to say it, but the sound slips...

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