V-12: The Crimson Orchid
The castle of Blackwood sat atop a jagged cliff, its spires piercing the bruised purple of the Scottish sky like the fingers of a drowning giant. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of incense and decay, a heavy, cloying aroma that seemed to cling to the skin. The hallways were long and winding, lit by flickering torches that cast dancing shadows against the damp stone walls. Julian had...
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