The Faded Photograph
The fire did not start with a spark but with a sound, a low, guttural groan from the heart of the castle that seemed to vibrate through the soles of your boots and up into the marrow of your bones, a sound that preceded the heat and the light and the terrible, sudden understanding that the stone itself was dying, and you stood there in the center of the great hall, the only person left awake in...
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