The Faded Guest

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2026-08-21 21:27:40 -

The Faded Guest

The wool was thick and dark, the color of dried blood, and it hung from the hook by the door like a heavy, silent judgment. Thomas Bradshaw stood in the center of the Great Hall, his hands trembling slightly at his sides. He was a man of modest means, a weaver from the lower district, accustomed to the smell of lanolin and the rhythmic clatter of his loom, but here, in the heart of the Duke’s...

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