The Faded Road
The fire started not with a roar, but with a sigh. It was a low, exhalation-like sound that seemed to come from the walls themselves, from the very fiber of the dry oak and the warped maple floorboards. I stood in the center of the Great Hall, the air thick with the scent of ozone and burning varnish, and watched the embers dance across the ceiling like a constellation falling into the sea....
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