The Garden of Pale Lilies
The manor of Valmont did not merely sit upon the cliffs of Normandy; it clung to them like a parasite, its grey stone walls weeping with a perpetual, salt-rimmed dampness. Inside, the air was a heavy suspension of incense, old lace, and the cloying, sweet scent of lilies that bloomed in the conservatory even in the dead of winter. Count Valentine lived in the heart of this stillness, a man...
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