The Gates of Ashworth Hall
The iron gates of Ashworth Hall groaned on rusted hinges as Arthur pushed through them, the cold Yorkshire wind biting at his thin coat. The estate lay before him like a wound in the moorland--a crumbling Georgian manor with blackened windows and a roof sagging in places as though the weight of centuries had finally broken its spine. He had never been here. He had never wanted to be here. But...
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