The Wistful Show

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2026-08-22 10:45:36 -

The Wistful Show

The fog did not settle; it climbed. It pressed its wet, gray face against the high windows of Blackwood Manor, blurring the world outside into a smear of slate and mud. I woke to the silence of a house holding its breath. The air in the master’s study was thick with the scent of dried sage and rot, a perfume that had become my second skin over the last decade of service. Lord Vane sat slumped...

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