The Wistful Saga
The bell rang. It did not chime. It struck. A dull, wet sound, like a hammer hitting a bruise. I looked up from the ledger. The ink was still wet. It spread, bleeding into the grain of the parchment. A black stain. A mirror. "Mr. Ashworth." I did not turn. The voice was thin. It came from the doorway. From the dark. I knew it was Eleanor. I knew it was not Eleanor. I knew it was the debt....
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