The Pale Garden
The rain did not fall so much as it hung in the air, a suspended mist that clung to the stone walls of the Blackwood Institute, a sprawling neo-Gothic complex perched on the edge of the moors where the heather was dying back into the gray of late autumn. Captain Elias Thorne stood alone in the center of the Great Hall, the only light source a single, flickering gas lamp that struggled to pierce...
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