The Faded Quadrant
Do you remember the sound a piano makes when the strings are pulled too tight? I woke with that vibration still humming in my teeth, the ghost of Nikos’s hands resting on my own, fingers interlaced in the dark. It was the dream again, the one that comes when the damp settles into the walls of the old house, that recurring pressure where his skin is cold and mine is burning, a friction that...
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