I really have no qualifications.
There was a time when war meant fear.
Now it means notifications.
An explosion flashes across the screen.
Missiles. Retaliation. Counter-strike.
We watch. We share. We argue.
Then we scroll to the next video.
The war does not stop.
Only our attention does.
When the news comes every hour, suffering begins to feel ordinary.
Once, hearing that people had died would make
The gothic classic that shaped every vampire story since — told through letters, diaries and newspaper clippings.
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