The Distant Ghost
The wine in the chalice is the color of dried blood, and the air in the cellar is thick with the acrid, metallic scent of sulfur and rotting rosemary, a smell that has seeped into the very pores of your skin until you can no longer distinguish your own breath from the toxic vapor rising from the alembic. Above you, the muffled thud of drums and the roar of the crowd celebrating the King’s...
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