The Faded River
The iron gate shudders under the weight of your boots, a sound that is less a clang and more the grinding of teeth in a jaw that has forgotten how to relax, echoing through the vaulted hall where the air hangs thick with the scent of damp stone and ancient, dried lavender. You are Edward Ashworth, a man whose skin has become as weathered and cracked as the oak floorboards beneath your feet, and...
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