The Distant Ghost
The dream was of stone. Not the cold, indifferent granite of a tomb, but the warm, living rock of a foundation. In the dream, the house was breathing. Its walls expanded with a slow, rhythmic heave, like the flank of a sleeping ox. Elias woke with the taste of dust on his tongue and a hollow ache in his chest that had nothing to do with hunger, though hunger was a familiar, constant companion....
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