The Wistful Letter
The chandelier in the Grand Hall of the Ashworth Estate did not hang from the ceiling so much as it hovered, a suspended galaxy of crystal shards that caught the candlelight and fractured it into a thousand trembling, weeping stars. It was a feast of such terrifying opulence that the air itself seemed to thicken, heavy with the scent of beeswax, roasted pheasant, and the cloying perfume of the...
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