The Pale Shadows
The iron gates of the manor groaned in a wind that smelled of sulfur and old blood, a sound that tore through the heavy fog like a scream caught in the throat of the dying, while Professor Elias Thorne stood before the threshold, his fingers trembling not from the cold that seeped into his very marrow, but from the terrible, vibrating anticipation of the truth that lay waiting within the...
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