The Distant Nightmare
The morning mist rolled off the moor like a slow exhalation from the earth itself, settling into the cracks of the stone walls that enclosed the manor, a place where the air tasted of old iron and damp lichen. Lord Alistair stood at the window of his high study, his reflection ghostly and faint against the gray glass, watching the fog obscure the boundary between the garden and the wildness...
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