The Grave-Keeper's Liturgy
(V-11: Gothic Style) The mist over the English countryside did not drift; it lurked. It clung to the jagged edges of the Blackwood Estate like a damp shroud, smelling of wet earth and ancient, forgotten grief. I was the keeper of the dead, a man whose only companions were the silent stones and the wind that howled through the leafless elms. In a previous life, I had been the Lord of this manor,...
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