The Distant Journey
"Did you see the chair?" I looked up from the ledger, my pen hovering over the ink, the wet black line trembling slightly in the air. The office was empty save for us, the dust motes swirling in the single shaft of light that cut through the high, arched window. "The chair is empty, Director," I said, my voice flat, devoid of the tremor he expected. "It has always been empty." Gogolashvili did...
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