The Distant Ghost
The departure was not a single moment but a slow, bleeding unraveling, a fraying of the edges of her life that began in the hallowed, stone-walled silence of the Abbey of St. Jude’s, where the air tasted of damp moss and the ancient, heavy incense of myrrh and time. Elara stood before the high altar, her back to the congregation, watching the dust motes dance in the singular, golden beam that...
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