The Distant Promise
The bread in the vault was old. This was the first thing Silas noticed when he descended the spiraling iron staircase into the undercroft of the Blackwood Manor. The air was thick, not with the dust of centuries, but with the heavy, cloying scent of yeast and decay, a smell that clung to the back of the throat like a secret too large to keep. Silas was a man carved from the same granite as the...
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