The Distant Ghost
The tincture is too thin. Brother Anselm stood in the cellar doorway, his shadow stretching long and distorted across the flagstones, and he did not speak, but the silence was a blade. Elara looked at the amber liquid pooling in the glass vial, then at the Abbot’s empty chair in the chapter house, miles away and yet pressing against her chest. She wanted the position. She wanted the permanent...
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