The Distant Blade

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2026-08-21 18:14:18 -

The Distant Blade

The iron gate at the end of the drive was rusted shut, a lattice of brown decay that seemed to breathe in the humid air of the August afternoon. I had come to Whitmore Hall not to visit, but to settle the accounts of a debt I had carried for twenty years. The house stood in the shadow of the old oak trees, its stone walls dark with age, a monolith of silence that had watched too many lives end...

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