The Distant Ghost
The magistrate’s voice was dry, like sand rubbed between thick fingers, and it filled the small, windowless office at the edge of the village. Elias stood in the center of the room, twelve years old and shaking, his hands locked around a leather-bound ledger that pulsed against his palms like a second heartbeat. The book was warm, too warm, and it whispered in a voice that sounded like his dead...
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