The Fog of Ambition
The manor of Blackwood stood like a skeletal finger pointing toward the leaden skies of the English countryside. Inside, the air was a stagnant mixture of damp wool and dying embers. Arthur Penhaligon, the estate's steward, walked the corridors with a silence that was not born of respect, but of a predator's instinct. He knew every creak of the floorboards, every secret passage, and every...
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