The Pale Echo
The rain did not fall so much as it hovered, a suspended grey mist that clung to the stone walls of the manor and seeped into the marrow of those who stood beneath its eaves. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of wet wool and stale tea, a heavy, suffocating blanket that seemed to press against the lungs of everyone present. Julian Thorne stood by the window, his hands clasped behind his...
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