The Golden Song
The iron gate of Blackwood Manor groaned against the frost, a sound like a bone snapping in the deep winter cold, and Thomas Bradshaw stepped through it with the heavy, deliberate tread of a man who had long since learned that hesitation was a luxury the dead could not afford. He was a man carved from the same hard clay as the estate itself, his face a map of old scars and new silences, and his...
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