The Pale Banner
The hall of the Ashworth estate did not merely exist; it breathed, a vast, stone-lunged organism that inhaled the cold autumn air through its high, arched windows and exhaled the warm, suffocating scent of beeswax and old parchment. It was a place where shadows pooled in the corners like spilled ink, deep and viscous, waiting for the light to recede so they could claim the floorboards, and...
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