The Wistful Skyline
The road to Ashworth Manor was not merely a path but a scar, cut deep into the heather by centuries of rain and the heavy tread of iron-shod hooves. You walked it with the weight of a man who has forgotten how to carry his own shadow, your boots sinking into the mud that clung to your ankles like the memory of a promise long broken. The air smelled of wet stone and dying ferns, a scent that...
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