The Distant Affair
The fog did not merely obscure the valley of Ashford; it consumed it, a thick, grey wool that strangled the roots of the oaks and silenced the bells of the parish church until they hung there like suspended, mute hearts. Eleanor Vane had walked into this mist three days prior, her boots caked in the red clay of a foreign soil, her hair unbound and wild as the heather she had left behind. She...
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