The Wistful Letter
The ink had barely dried when the first crack appeared in the facade, a jagged line that seemed to mimic the fracture in Arthur Vane’s own skull. He sat in his cramped office, the smell of damp paper and old dust clinging to his coat, staring at the letter he had just drafted to Lord Blackwood. It was a request for the key to the sealed East Wing, a plea for the right to retrieve the final...
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