The Golden Cellar
The candlelight in the Great Hall of Ashworth Manor did not so much illuminate the room as it conspired with the shadows to keep the secrets of the night alive, casting long, trembling fingers across the oak table where the feast lay in a state of suspended decay, the roasted pheasants staring out with glassy, unblinking eyes while the wine, deep and crimson as a fresh wound, pooled in the...
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