The Pale Garden
The air in the grand hall of Blackwood Manor was thick with the scent of roasted venison and decay, a cloying perfume that seemed to seep into the very fabric of the damask curtains and settle in the hollows of your bones. You stood at the periphery of the feast, a silent sentinel amidst the clamor of silverware and the raucous laughter of the gentry who had gathered to celebrate the...
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