The Wistful Letter
The fog rolled off the moors like a grey tide, swallowing the village of Blackwood in a silent, suffocating embrace. It was a town that seemed to exist only in the margins of time, where the gas lamps flickered with a sickly yellow pallor and the cobblestones were slick with a perpetual, damp chill. Major Elias Thorne stood at the threshold of his ancestral home, The Keep, a sprawling Gothic...
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