The Distant Whispers
The gaslight hisses in the corridor, a thin, dying sound that cuts through the heavy velvet silence of the hall, and you stand there, clutching the cold iron railing, watching the dust motes dance in the beam of yellow light that falls across the polished floor like a shroud, while the memory of his voice, that low, rumbling baritone that once felt like the earth itself shifting beneath your...
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