The Pale Garden
14th of November, 1893 The east wing of Blackwood Hall did not merely fall; it exhaled a long, dusty sigh that turned the afternoon light into a brown, suffocating fog, and when the dust settled, Lord Blackwood was gone, buried beneath a lattice of splintered oak and collapsed plaster, while I, Elara Vance, stood in the courtyard with my hands trembling not from fear, but from the sudden,...
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