The Wistful Skyline
The fire did not start in the kitchen, nor in the dry hayloft where the winter grain was stacked in careful, silent rows, but it began in the marrow of the great stone wall that separated the private chambers of the Duke from the outer courtyard, a heat that felt less like combustion and more like the slow, terrible exhalation of a beast that had been held beneath the floorboards for centuries....
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