The Pale Tale
The silver locket hung heavy in Elias Thorne’s pocket, a cold weight against his hip that seemed to pull him back into the damp earth of the manor house. He was forty-five, a magistrate by trade and a ghost by reputation, returning to the crumbling estate of his late brother, Arthur, to clear a name stained by embezzlement. The house resisted him immediately; the shadows in the hallway...
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