The Faded Ruin
The banquet hall of the Ashworth estate was a cavern of dust and dim, flickering gaslight, a space where the air hung heavy with the scent of rotting lilies and old varnish, and it was here, in the center of this decaying grandeur, that Thomas Bradshaw stood alone, his eyes fixed on the peeling wallpaper that curled away from the plaster like dead skin. He was a man of few words and fewer...
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