The Faded Paradox
The chandelier, a sprawling web of crystal and iron that once held the light of a thousand candles, now holds only the dust of decades, and you stand beneath it, your boots clicking against the marble floor with a rhythm that feels less like a walk and more like a countdown, the air in the Grand Hall of the Whitmore Estate thick with the scent of old paper and the metallic tang of rain that has...
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