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... e quiet night, carried on the breeze and the steady stream of the river. Mikel turned to the male ghost, arching a brow as he studied the man from head to toe.

"N—no," the male ghost stuttered, eyes fixed on the body floating in the river. "This is not where I was drowned..."

Then, the rest of his words caught in his throat as a memory—a very clear one—flooded his mind.

A memory of him idling by this river, writing poem after poem in his notebook. He had been so immersed ...

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