The Wistful Saga
The rain had been falling for three days, a steady, gray curtain that erased the horizon and softened the edges of the world. I sat in the study of the old estate, the air thick with the scent of damp wool and decaying paper. My hands were shaking, a tremor I could no longer hide from myself or from the silence that pressed against the walls. Outside, the garden was a mess of mud and broken...
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