The Last Supper of Emilia Vance
The fog clung to the Yorkshire moors like a shroud that refused to be folded away. Emilia Vance stood at the window of Blackhollow Hall, her breath fogging the glass in a small perfect circle, and watched the last of the daylight dissolve into the heather. She had inherited this house three weeks ago and still did not know which rooms were hers and which belonged to the ghosts. Blackhollow Hall...
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