The Wistful Grid

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2026-08-19 08:56:28 -

The Wistful Grid

The iron gates of the Ashworth estate did not close so much as they swallowed the world outside. Margaret stood on the threshold, her fingers white-knuckled against the cold metal, watching the rain blur the line between the moor and the sky. She was wet. Not just damp, but soaked to the bone, a chill that had nothing to do with the temperature. Inside, the hall was a cavern of shadow and...

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