The Distant Legend
The chandeliers in the auction hall of Blackwood Manor were heavy with dust and the weight of a century’s silence, their crystal pendants catching the gaslight in fractured, cold sparks. Elias Thorne stood near the back, his fingers curled into a fist that trembled with a palsy he had learned to hide behind the steadiness of his posture. He was fifty-two, an antiquarian of modest renown but...
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