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horror,Threads of the Mind

horror,Threads of the Mind

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The morning sun felt foreign, protrusive, as if it had no place in the house that had claimed him. Alex awoke not on the bottom, as ahead, but standing in the center of the garret, the doorframe behind him pulsing noiselessly, alive, patient. His body pained in strange ways; prostration mingled with a peculiar mindfulness that made every sound sharper, every shadow more pronounced. The whispers were soft, threading through his knowledge like silk, ever-present Flash back Observe Belong

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