The Distant Ghost
The valley market hummed with the low, grinding roar of the communal mill, a sound that vibrated through the soles of every shoe in the plaza. Dust from the millstone settled on the linoleum of the printer’s workshop, coating the ink-stained hands of the apprentices in a fine, gray powder. Amparo Ybáñez stood in the center of the gilded throne room, her worn velvet shawl clutched tight against...
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