The Golden Song
The feast at Blackwood Manor was a spectacle of such ostentatious rot that it seemed less a celebration of harvest than a funeral for the soul of the house. The chandeliers, dripping with crystal that caught the firelight in jagged, predatory shards, cast a web of gold across the damp stone floor. Lord Ashworth sat at the head of the long oak table, his face a mask of polite disapproval, his...
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