The Faded Dust
The rain had not stopped for three days. It drummed against the high, leaded windows of the Great Hall, a relentless, rhythmic pounding that sounded like the heart of a beast dying in the next room. Lord Ashworth sat in the corner, his posture rigid, his hands clasped so tightly around the hilt of his ceremonial dagger that his knuckles had turned the color of old bone. He was not waiting for...
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