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The homes of the people who had loved.

He placed the invisible carving on the fountain’s edge, and for a moment—just a moment—the fountain was no longer dry. Water ran over the mossy stone, clear and cold, and I heard a child’s laugh from a year that no longer existed. The homes of the people who had loved

Remsl smiled. It was a small, inward thing, like a knot in wood. “Same sickness. You try to trap what’s gone. I try to set it free.” clear and cold