The Distant Promise
The rain in Ashworth Hall did not fall so much as it existed, a persistent, grey shroud that clung to the leaded windows and dampened the very air in the corridors. Elias Thorne, the estate’s newly appointed steward, stood before the great oak doors, his hands clasped tightly behind his back. He was a man of few words, his face a map of lines etched by years of silent service, but his eyes,...
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