The Memory That Did Not Sleep
Further within, she encountered something like a pulse.
Every narrowing she had ever made trembled here — not as images, but as weight. The openness carried their residue.
She stepped toward a direction she had walked before.
The pulse strengthened.
She turned toward a path long neglected.
The pulse thinned, uncertain.
Nothing forbade her movement. Yet the past moved with her.
The presence did not sleep.
It remembered each narrowing — not as story, but as altered tension.
Density, she realised, was the system remembering itself.
Not by storing events.
By reshaping likelihood.
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