01_ballad_eleanor
The Ballad of Lady Eleanor The ballroom breathed fog. Not the natural fog of the Thames at dawn, but a manufactured mist of candle smoke, perfume, and the collective breath of two hundred souls compressed into a single grand hall. Lady Eleanor Ashworth stood at the top of the staircase and watched them all below their painted faces, their powdered wigs, their hungry eyes. She was twenty-two...
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