The Soul-Sutured Vault
The manor of Blackwood Crag did not sit upon the cliff; it seemed to grow from it, a jagged tooth of granite and slate biting into the grey skin of the English coast. Inside, the architecture was a labyrinth of suffocating grandeur—cavernous halls where the ceiling was lost in a swirl of ancient soot, and corridors that stretched like the throat of some great, dormant beast. The air was a...
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