The Distant Ghost
The wind did not howl so much as it exhaled, a long, ragged breath that seemed to come from the bones of the earth itself, carrying with it the scent of wet stone and the faint, metallic tang of old blood that had seeped into the limestone over centuries. Thomas Bradshaw stood in the center of the circular chamber, his back pressed against the cold, damp wall, feeling the rough texture of the...
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