The Wistful Crossroads
The morning light did not so much enter the house as it invaded the room, a pale, liquid substance that pooled on the floorboards and seeped into the grain of the wood with a persistence that felt almost sentient, as if the sun itself had developed a grudge against the shadows that had long since claimed dominion over the corridors of the Whitmore estate, a sprawling Victorian edifice that had...
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