The Distant Joke
The iron gates of Blackwood Manor groaned open, a sound like a bone breaking in a quiet room. Silas Vane stood in the courtyard, his hands trembling not from the cold, but from the weight of the cage strapped to his back. Inside it, the nightjar flapped, its feathers matted with dust and the smell of old blood. He was here to deliver the final payment, the last token of his penance, to the Lady...
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