The Faded Guest
The fire did not begin with a spark, but with a sigh, a long, rattling exhalation from the belly of the house itself, curling up through the floorboards of the ancestral estate at Blackwood Hollow. By the time the sun had cleared the jagged ridge of the eastern hills, the timber frame had collapsed into a heap of blackened ribcages, and the smoke, thick and oily, still clung to the air like a...
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