The Gilded Memory
Arthur lived in the damp, suffocating belly of Blackwood Manor, a place where the soot of the industrial revolution clung to the walls like a parasitic fungus. For ten years, he had been the ghost of the boiler room, a nameless orphan whose only purpose was to ensure the aristocrats upstairs never felt a single chill of the London winter. His world was a symphony of clanking iron and the smell...
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