The Wistful Letter
The crystal chandeliers of Thorne Hall caught the gaslight and fractured it into a thousand cold stars, a blinding array that mirrored the desperation in Captain Elias Thorne’s eyes as he raised his glass to the ceiling. It was November of 1893, and the air in the great hall was thick with the scent of roasted pheasant and the heavy, suffocating perfume of lilies, yet Elias felt only the chill...
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