The Faded Alibi
The air in Lord Blackwood’s study was thick, cloying with the scent of rotting lilies, a perfume so heavy it felt like a physical weight pressing against Elias Thorne’s temples. He sat opposite the Lord, who was wasting away in his high-backed chair, his skin the color of old parchment stretched over a frame of brittle bone. Blackwood’s eyes, still sharp and predatory, fixed on Elias with a...
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