The Wistful Voyage

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2026-08-19 06:09:03 -

The dream had no walls. Only the hum of the loom, a sound like bees trapped in glass. Margaret woke with the taste of copper in her mouth and the phantom weight of a shuttle in her hand. She lay still in the straw pallet, listening to the dawn break over the manor. The air was cold. It smelled of damp wool and old stone. She sat up. Her fingers were stained blue. Indigo. The color of the void....

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