The Wistful Voyage
The dream arrived not as a vision of light, but as a scent, heavy and cloying like crushed lavender soaked in the stagnant water of a forgotten well, and it was this scent that pulled Dr. Arthur Pemberton from the deep, cold slumber of his study, where the fire had long since died into a bed of grey ash that mirrored the winter pressing against the leaded glass windows of the old manor. He lay...
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