The Distant Nightmare
I have spent thirty-two years setting type, and I know the weight of a letter. It is not a feather; it is a lead block, cold and heavy, that must be locked tight or the page will drift. I am Akari Watanabe, and I am accused of stealing a manuscript. The town of Hush Harbor believes it is because of my nightmares. They say the ink floods my lungs in my sleep, that I wake gasping, black fluid...
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