The Pale Tale
The rain did not fall so much as it materialized, a fine, persistent mist that clung to the grey stone of the manor house and seeped into the bones of those who dwelt within. Inside the high-ceilinged study, the air was thick with the scent of old paper, damp wool, and the metallic tang of fear. Silas Thorne sat in the leather wingback chair, his spine rigid, his eyes fixed on the window where...
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