The Faded Quadrant
The fire did not begin with a spark, but with a scream, a shriek that tore through the thick, oak-beamed silence of the manor house and shattered the quiet of the night so violently that the very stones seemed to flinch in their foundations, leaving the world behind in a state of suspended, terrifying anticipation where the air itself grew heavy with the scent of ozone and charred wool. It was...
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