The Wistful Mountain
The rain had been falling for three days, a grey curtain that turned the iron gates of Blackwood Manor into rusted sentinels guarding a silence that felt less like peace and more like a held breath. Inside the high, vaulted library, where the air smelled of wet wool and old paper, Captain Elias Thorne stood before the fireplace. The fire had died an hour ago, leaving only a bed of white ash...
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