The Pale Garden
The cold is not a temperature. It is a weight. It sits on your neck like a wet hand, pressing the skin down until the blood thins and the thoughts turn to ice. You are Elias Thorne. You are thirty-four. You are the groundskeeper at Blackwood Manor, and you are here to prove it is a fraud. The inheritance is yours by blood, but the house is yours by fear, and the villagers in Oakhaven whisper...
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