The Distant Ghost
The taste of copper and burnt sugar coats the back of your throat before you even open your eyes, a phantom flavor that belongs to no waking meal. You are lying in the narrow cot behind the counter of the apothecary, the air thick with the scent of dried lavender and the slow decay of old paper. The city outside is a dull gray smear against the windowpanes, the streetlamps flickering with the...
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