The Wistful Voyage

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2026-08-18 18:54:16 -

The brass handle of the door is cold, but not in the way that bites; it is the cold of old money, of polished silence, of things that have been touched by too many hands until they lose their individual warmth. You stand in the hallway of the Whitmore estate, the air thick with the scent of beeswax and decay, your hand resting on the metal as if it were a lifeline to a shore you have already...

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