The Fog of Beatrice
The manor at Oakhaven was not built for the living. It was a sprawling, grey beast of a house, perpetually strangled by a fog that tasted of salt and old pennies. Lady Beatrice lived there alone, the last of a line that had spent three centuries refining the art of misery. Silas arrived in November, carrying a briefcase of forbidden texts and a smile that didn't reach his eyes. He called...
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