The Distant Ghost
You wake before the light, your body already heavy with the static charge of the dream that has bled into your waking hours. In the dream, you were not here, in this cell of stone and silence, but standing in a vast, white cathedral where the pews were made of bone and the air tasted of ozone and old paper. You were reaching for something, a small, warm object held in the palm of a woman whose...
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