The Golden Song
The manor stood against the sky like a broken jaw, its limestone skin flaking in sheets that drifted down to the garden like the dandruff of a dying god. Elias Thorne stood in the center of the conservatory, the glass roof above him fractured into a spiderweb of cracks that caught the pale afternoon light and scattered it into a thousand cold, stinging diamonds. He was a man built for order, a...
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