The Wistful Letter
The candle flame in the cellar of Blackwood Manor shivers, not from a draft, but from the sheer weight of the silence that has settled over the house, and you, Elias, are twelve years old, your fingers stained with ink, your heart hammering a frantic rhythm against your ribs as you struggle to decipher the final entry in the Duke’s forbidden ledger. The air here is thick with the smell of damp...
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