The Distant Whispers

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2026-08-18 12:45:59 -

The house breathed. That was the only way I could describe it. A slow, rhythmic expansion and contraction of the timber frame, a creaking that sounded like the grinding of old teeth. I stood in the hallway of the Whitmore estate, a structure of blackened wood and iron that had survived the soot and smoke of the industrial age but was now rotting from the inside out. It was 1893, though the...

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