The Distant Nightmare

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2026-08-21 16:20:04 -

The air in the manor was thick with the scent of damp wool and old stone, a sensory texture that Margaret Holloway had come to associate not with comfort but with the slow, grinding erosion of her own vitality. She stood in the center of the grand hall, her hands resting on the cold banister of the staircase, watching the dust motes dance in the single beam of light that pierced the gloom from...

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