The Wistful Throne
The iron gates of the Whitmore Estate were not merely closed; they were sealed by a rust that had calcified into a permanent, jagged grin, a metal scar over the throat of the house that stood like a monolith against the bruised twilight sky, a structure so vast and so deeply embedded in the rotting soil of the English countryside that it seemed less a building and more a geological formation, a...
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