The Golden Visit
The fog has not lifted from the manor in three days, a thick, bruised grey that presses against the glass like a living thing seeking entry, and I sit here at the heavy oak desk, my hand trembling as I press the nib to the page, knowing that this is the final record of my stewardship and the final breath of my innocence. I am Elias Thorne, Warden of the House, and I am writing this because the...
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