The Distant Ghost

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2026-08-19 16:34:22 -

The Distant Ghost

The dream was of green. Not the green of spring, but the deep, rotting green of moss on stone. It tasted of iron. It smelled of wet wool. Margaret woke with a gasp, her lungs burning as if she had been holding her breath for years. The candle on the table had burned to a stub. The wax pooled like white blood. She sat up. The room was cold. The year was 1342, or perhaps 1343. Time had grown...

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