The Faded Guest

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2026-08-17 19:25:24 -

The Faded Guest

The banquet hall smelled of roasted pheasant and old dust. Candles guttered in the silver candelabras, their flames trembling as if caught in a breeze that did not exist. Sir Thomas Ashworth stood by the window, his hand resting on the cold glass. He was a man carved from stone, a soldier who had worn medals until they were just another layer of skin. Tonight, the air felt thick. It pressed...

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