The Distant Ghost
The candlelight in the Great Hall of Rouen does not illuminate; it consumes, eating into the shadows of the tapestries and the faces of the nobles until only the gilded edges of their masks remain visible to you. You stand at the periphery of the feast, a thirty-two-year-old alchemist in the service of the Duke of Normandy, your fingers wrapped tightly around a small, lead-lined vial that sits...
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