The Wistful Crossroads

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2026-08-20 02:12:59 -

The rain had stopped, but the air in the manor remained heavy, saturated with the scent of wet stone and rotting leaves. Silas Vane stood in the center of the great hall, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword, though the weapon felt like a dead branch against his palm. The chandelier above, a tangle of iron and cracked glass, hung low, casting long, fractured shadows across the marble...

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