The Faded Road
The roof of the manor house gave way on a Tuesday, which was a day Gerald Vane had always considered too ordinary for such grand catastrophes. The beams, blackened by centuries of soot and the damp breath of the moors, groaned like old men in pain before they snapped. Dust billowed into the main hall, a thick, gray fog that smelled of rot and old paper. Gerald stood in the center of the ruin,...
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