The Faded Guest
The cellar of the Hall was not merely a room but a geological stratum of silence, where the air hung heavy with the scent of damp limestone, aged wine, and the specific, metallic tang of secrets that had been buried for too long to rot. You stood there, your back pressed against the cold stone, feeling the vibration of the party above through the soles of your shoes, a rhythmic thumping that...
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