The Distant Legend
The house in Harrowgate smelled of damp wool and old brass, a scent that had settled into the grain of the floorboards long before you arrived. You stood in the hallway, your boots heavy with the mud of the countryside, holding a lantern that flickered uncertainly in the draft. The investigation was simple, or so the magistrate had claimed over the phone, his voice tinny and distant. Find the...
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