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It's been weeks. Months? They say that time flows with demented cadence in the realms of Oblivion. When I get out of here—if I get out of here—the world will have moved on. I pray that, however much time has passed, my husband and the residents of Whisper Grove remain safe.

It would be a fitting end for all I've given. I am weary, in bone and soul, and this contest is far from finished.

Writing helps.


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