The Faded Guest
The rain had been falling for three days, a relentless, grey curtain that turned the cobblestones of the estate into slick, black mirrors. Inside the study of the Whitmore manor, the air was thick with the scent of damp wool and stale tobacco, a heavy atmosphere that seemed to press against the windows like a living thing. Elias Thorne sat at the desk, his fingers stained with ink, staring at...
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