The Wistful Dinner
The rain has been falling since before you woke, a persistent, grey veil that turns the world outside your window into a watercolor smudge of slate and moss. You are sitting at the head of the long oak table in the dining room of the Whitmore estate, a house that breathes with the slow, heavy rhythm of its own decay. The air is thick, smelling of wet wool, old paper, and the faint, metallic...
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