Blood Memory
ACT I: THE RISING (20%) The coffin smelled of damp wood and something older, something that made Arthur's stomach turn. He had been dead for three days. The coroner's stamp on the death certificate was still wet when the dreams began. Not dreams exactly. Memories that weren't his. A woman's hands—rough, red-knuckled, stained with soot—washing a shirt in the Liffey. A child's laughter echoing...
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