The Pale Verdict
You stand in the foyer of the Ashworth estate, the air thick with the scent of beeswax and old paper, and you hear the heavy, rhythmic thud of the door locking behind you. It is a sound you have come to know as well as your own heartbeat, a finality that settles into your bones like damp cold. You are Eleanor, and you are the keeper of the words that define this house, the scribe whose quill...
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