The Wistful Crossroads

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2026-08-20 15:58:38 -

The hall smells of burnt sugar and wet wool, a heavy, cloying perfume that clings to the back of your throat as you stand at the edge of the dining table. The chandelier above casts a fractured light, trembling against the windowpane where the wind outside is trying to peel the ivy from the brickwork of the old manor. You are the only one who does not touch the food. You stand with your hands...

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