The Pale Verdict
The Great Hall of the Ashworth estate did not smell of dust, as one might expect of a place abandoned by the living, but rather of ozone and wet stone, a metallic tang that clung to the back of the throat like a half-swallowed stone. It was a cathedral of decay, its vaulted ceiling lost in a darkness that seemed to breathe, where the chandeliers hung like skeletal trees stripped of their...
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