The Pale Garden
The soot from the chimneys settles on your eyelashes like fine gray dust, a constant, gritty reminder of the industrial age that grinds against the edges of your consciousness. You stand in the courtyard of the Ashworth estate, the air thick with the scent of wet stone and ozone, your fingers trembling as they trace the rim of the silver locket. Inside, the portrait of your brother, Thomas, has...
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