The Distant Ghost
The great hall of the Ashworth keep did not merely stand; it breathed, a vast, stone-lunged entity that exhaled the scent of damp moss and ancient candle wax, and within that suffocating, magnificent cage, Sir Thomas Bradshaw stood with his back to the fire, his hands clasped behind him in a posture of such rigid, theatrical stillness that the air around him seemed to vibrate with the tension...
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