The Ethereal Spark
The first time I saw it, it was alive. Not alive in the way a cat is alive or a tree is alive or a human being is alive. Alive in the way that a question is alive—present but unanswerable, tangible but elusive, something that exists in the space between certainty and doubt. It was autumn, 1885. I was twenty-five years old, and I had just inherited my father's title and his castle—a crumbling...
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