The Wistful Silence
The rain did not fall so much as it descended, a gray curtain drawn tight against the windows of the old manor house, blurring the world outside into a smear of wet stone and dying hedges. I stood at the center of the grand hall, the floorboards beneath my feet humming with a low, resonant vibration that seemed to rise from the earth itself. In my hands, I held the sash. It was a strip of silk,...
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