The Faded Root
The chandelier of brass and glass, which had once illuminated the grand ballroom of the Ashworth estate with a cold, surgical precision, now hung suspended in the void of the subterranean archive, its crystals catching the dim, amber glow of the gaslights that flickered like dying stars in the dusty air. Dr. Arthur Penhaligon stood beneath it, his hands trembling not from fear, but from the...
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