The Faded Portrait
The air in the high tower of Blackwood Manor did not simply sit still, but rather hung heavy and thick like a woolen shroud soaked in the damp breath of the ancient forest that had swallowed the estate centuries ago, a silence so profound and suffocating that it seemed to press against the eardrums of Sir Julian Thorne, the last warden of the house, whose hands, still trembling slightly from...
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