The Distant Nightmare
The vial weighed precisely four ounces, a weight that felt like lead in the palm and like glass in the mind, and I had counted the drops falling from the nozzle three times before the knock at the door shattered the rhythm of the afternoon. The air in the apothecary was thick with the smell of sulfur and old paper, a scent that had settled into the very grain of the oak shelves, but beneath...
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