The inkwell sat upon the desk like an unblinking eye.

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2026-05-23 15:24:57 -

Eleanor Vance had spent three years composing this diary, each word a small rebellion against the silence that had swallowed her youth. The gaslight flickered in the drafty Mayfair townhouse where she now worked as a governess to the Whitmore children, three small creatures whose innocence she guarded with a ferocity that bordered on madness. It began, as these things always began, with...

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