The Distant Whispers

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2026-08-22 20:42:26 -

Vane, you are late. The voice came from the shadows of the antechamber, low and grinding like gravel under a heavy boot, and Arthur Vane straightened his tie, the silk slick and cold against his neck, before stepping into the gaslight of the Duke’s private study. The room smelled of stale tobacco and damp wool, the wallpaper a faded pattern of vines that seemed to curl and tighten in the...

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