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... ms, where everything feels half-real and fades with the morning light. Not in memories, growing fainter with each passing decade. But here, now, solid and warm and alive?
Adom had imagined this moment countless times over sixty years. In quiet nights alone, in busy days when something would remind him of them. He'd imagined what he'd say, what they'd say. Sometimes he'd talk to them, feeling half-mad but needing it all the same. "You should have seen this sunset, Mother." Or "Remember th ...
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