The Pale Verdict
The house sat on the edge of the moor, a skeletal thing of stone and shadow that seemed less built by human hands and more grown from the decay of the earth itself. Elias Thorne arrived at its gates as the first grey light of dawn struggled to pierce the heavy mist, his carriage wheels sinking into mud that clung to his boots with a wet, suffocating persistence. He was a man of books and quiet...
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