The Distant Ghost
The watch ticks in the dark, a sound so loud it feels like a hammer against the inside of your skull. You are standing in a field that is not a field, but a flat expanse of gray mist, stretching out to a horizon that refuses to resolve. In your hand, you hold a silver pocket watch. It is cold, colder than the air should allow, and the glass face is clouded with a film of grime that you cannot...
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