The Distant Nightmare
The champagne in Clara Vane’s crystal flute had begun to taste of copper and old iron, a metallic tang that coated the back of her throat as she stood in the center of the Grand Hall at the Sterling Hotel, surrounded by the suffocating warmth of two hundred guests. It was November, 1904, and the air was thick with the scent of roasted meats and expensive perfume, yet Clara felt a distinct,...
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