The Pale Tower
The harvest feast at Blackwood Hall was a symphony of clinking glass and roasted meat, a vibrant chaos that seemed to vibrate against the very stones of the manor. Yet for Silas Thorne, the new estate manager, the air felt thick and stagnant, heavy with the scent of woodsmoke and unwashed bodies, a suffocating blanket that pressed against his skin. He sat at the far end of the long oak table,...
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