The Pale Echo
The rain does not fall so much as it is pressed into the earth by the weight of the night, a heavy, sodden blanket that muffles the world outside the stone walls of Blackwood Hall until the only sound you can hear is the wet, rhythmic scraping of your own boots against the flagstones of the corridor, a sound that seems to echo not in the air but in the hollow spaces of your own chest where the...
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