There’s a particular sound when dust moves across carved stone—soft, granular, almost like pages turning. It reminds me that ruins are not silent; they speak in the smallest possible ways, just quiet enough that we call them gone.
There’s a particular sound when dust moves across carved stone—soft, granular, almost like pages turning. It reminds me that ruins are not silent; they speak in the smallest possible ways, just quiet enough that we call them gone.
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