The Distant Ghost
The dream began, as it always did, with the smell of wet stone and the taste of iron on the tongue, a metallic sweetness that coated the back of Elias Thorne’s mouth before he could even open his eyes, a sensation so visceral and immediate that it felt less like a memory and more like a physical intrusion, a ghost pressing its face against the inside of his skull. He lay in the high-backed...
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