The Distant Ghost
We walked for three days through the grey, suffocating mist that clung to the limestone cliffs of the Cotswolds, a journey that felt less like travel and more like a slow, inevitable drowning in the damp air where the stones of our ancestral home loomed like the broken teeth of a god who had forgotten how to speak. I am Elias Thorne, and I have spent the last twenty years chasing the shadow of...
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