The Wistful Cipher
The grand estate of Blackwood Hall, situated on the jagged cliffs of the North Sea coast, groaned under the weight of the industrial age that had swallowed the village below. It was a place of soot-stained dignity, where the brass fittings were green with verdigris and the air tasted perpetually of coal dust and brine. Captain Elias Thorne stood in the center of the ballroom, the chandelier...
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