The Distant Promise
The rain struck the windowpane in a relentless, rhythmic hiss. It was a sound that had become the heartbeat of the house. Elias Thorne sat in the wingback chair, his hands resting on his knees. They were steady hands. They had been steady for ten years. The walls of the manor were damp with the November chill. The wallpaper, a faded floral pattern, seemed to wilt in the darkness. He watched the...
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