The Distant Whispers

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2026-08-25 08:58:21 -

Act I You remember the smell of wet stone and old iron before you remember the sound of your own name being called, a fact that haunts you now as you stand in the plaza, the crowd a wall of silent faces. It is the fourth of October, the year of the great flood that never quite broke the levees but broke everything else, and you are looking back at the tower, that grey monolith that once held...

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