The Wistful Letter
The air in the grand hall of Blackwood Manor was thick, not with the scent of roasted pheasant or the heavy perfume of the Duchess’s gardenias, but with the palpable, suffocating weight of expectation, a tangible mist that settled on the shoulders of the guests and choked the breath from the lungs of the host, who stood at the apex of the marble staircase, his face a mask of polite, predatory...
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