The Distant Ghost
The feast was held in the great hall of the old manor, the air thick with the scent of roasted lamb and stale wax. Candles flickered against the damp stone walls, casting long, trembling shadows that danced like spirits unable to rest. Colonel Arthur Vane sat at the head of the table, his uniform immaculate, his posture rigid as a bar of iron. He did not eat. He drank. The wine was dark and...
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