The Distant Whispers

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2026-08-23 14:35:56 -

I woke with a gasp, the sheets twisted in my fists, the air in the room thick with the scent of iron and old paper. It was 1928, Vienna, and the rain was hammering against the windowpane, a rhythmic drumming that mirrored the pounding in my chest. I was forty-two years old, and I had been dead for twelve. The dream was always the same: my brother, Thomas, standing in the mud of the Somme, his...

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