The Distant Ghost
The hall smelled of damp wool and iron filings. You stood in the corner, your coat buttoned to the throat. The air was thick. It hummed with a low, electrical frequency. Three hundred people filled the grand ballroom of the Whitmore Estate. They laughed. They drank. The chandeliers cast a yellow, sickly glow on the polished oak floor. You did not laugh. You did not drink. You watched the...
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