The Distant Promise
I woke with the taste of iron and wet stone on my tongue, the heavy silence of the library pressing against my eardrums like a physical weight. It was that dream again, the one that has haunted the long, candlelit nights of my tenure at St. Jude’s Hall. In the dream, I am standing in the Great Hall, but the walls are breathing, the tapestries shifting like the skin of a living thing, and I am...
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