The Pale Dance
The Great Hall of the Ashworth Estate did not merely stand; it breathed. A vast, cavernous exhalation of stone and shadow, it loomed over the valley like a sleeping titan, its windows dark eyes staring into the perpetual twilight of the moors. For centuries, the estate had been the seat of a lineage that prided itself on order, on the rigid architecture of blood and duty. But on the night the...
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