The Last Waltz of the Dying Light
**Act I: The Arrival** The fog of London in 1882 did not merely drift; it clung to the cobblestones like a damp shroud, smelling of coal smoke and forgotten promises. Arthur Sterling stood before the wrought-iron gates of Blackwood Manor, his top hat shielding him from a drizzle that felt more like needles than rain. It had been seven years since he had seen Clara. Seven years since he had...
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