The Wistful Ashes
The house stood at the edge of the foggy moor, a skeletal structure of grey stone and timber that seemed less like a dwelling and more like a geological formation, a protrusion of the earth itself that had grown weary of its own weight and begun to slouch into the damp air. It was here, in the shadow of this enduring, indifferent architecture, that Silas Vane had spent the last three decades of...
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