The Pale Verdict
The fire started in the boiler room. It was a Tuesday. November. The heat had been failing for weeks, leaving the iron lungs of the mansion gasping and cold. You know this. You remember the shudder that ran through the floorboards when the main valve seized. You remember the smell of wet coal and old rust. The smoke came up first. Then the roar. You stood by the window in the east wing. The...
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