The Gilded Sentinel

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2026-06-19 12:12:03 -

The fog came down on Blackwood Manor like a shroud, heavy and yellow, swallowing the gravel drive whole. Clara Whitmore walked it anyway, her bare feet cold against the frost-stung stones, a single tallow candle held low in her hands. She was seventeen, thin as a whipcord, with eyes that had learned to see in the dark before they had learned to see anything else. At the manor's iron gates stood...

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