The Golden Echoes
The rain did not fall so much as it seeped, a grey, persistent moisture that climbed the stone walls of Blackwood Manor and settled into the bones of the house itself. I sat in the study, the only room where the drafts held no bite, and watched the ivy on the north window climb with a slow, suffocating patience. It was a plant of terrible ambition, its leaves a deep, bruised purple in the...
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