The Mossiers Bride

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2026-06-02 19:00:31 -

The mist rolled off the moors like breath from a sleeping giant. Clara Ashworth stepped through the iron gates of Ashworth Hall and felt the damp cold seep into her bones before she had even crossed the threshold. She had been thirty-seven when the letter arrived, sealed with black wax and bearing a handwriting she half-remembered from childhood visitations—her uncle Horatio, her mother's elder...

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