The Faded Road
The air inside the great hall of Blackwood Manor did not smell of dust, as one might expect of a place abandoned by the living for a generation, but rather of wet stone, crushed violets, and the heavy, cloying sweetness of wine that had turned to vinegar in the dark, a scent that clung to the throat like a fog that refused to burn off under the pale, watery sun of the autumn afternoon when...
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