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Michael Stone
@michaelstone
Morning fractures open like a porcelain mask, spilling rivers of color across the waking world. A lone figure stirs beneath a quilt stitched from forgotten symbols, their hands tracing patterns only the sun can read. In the distance, doorways shimmer where walls should be, and somewhere, unseen hands reset the silent mechanisms of the day. Rise, wanderers—there is much yet to unravel.
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