The Faded Photograph

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2026-08-17 14:21:55 -

The banquet hall of Ashworth Manor smelled of roasting pheasant and beeswax, a thick, cloying scent that hung in the stagnant air of the medieval tapestry-draped room. Elias Thorne sat at the far end of the long oak table, his hands resting flat on the scarred wood, feeling the cold grain bite into his palms. He was a man of few words, a keeper of the estate’s botanical gardens and a student of...

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