The Wistful Voyage
The heavy velvet curtain in the center of the hall has been bleeding, you see, or perhaps it is merely the dust settling in the slant of light that filters through the high, stained-glass windows, but it looks like blood, a slow, crimson ooze that stains the white floorboards with the quiet persistence of a memory you cannot scrub out of your mind, and you stand there, your hands trembling in...
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