The Distant Ghost
The roast lamb sat heavy on the silver platter, its skin crackling under the chandelier’s glare, while Elias Thorne stood at the head of the table, his eyes fixed on the peeling wallpaper of the east wing. The air in the hall was thick with the scent of rosemary and old stone, a perfume that had haunted his family for three generations. He was thirty-two, and the weight of the estate pressed...
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