The Faded Paradox
The rain did not fall so much as it invaded the estate of Elias Thorne, a relentless, grey curtain that turned the moors into a slurry of peat and mud. It was a season where the air tasted of iron and decay, and the house, a sprawling Victorian monstrosity of stone and shadow, seemed to shrink inward against the gale. Inside, the silence was not empty but heavy, a physical weight that pressed...
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