The Wistful Letter
14 October 1924 The wisteria in the courtyard has begun to bleed again, a thick, viscous black sap oozing from the fissures in the ancient stone wall, a sign that lies are festering in the upper halls; I have spent the last three hours cataloguing the correspondence of the late Duke, my hands steady despite the tremor that has seized my chest since dawn, for I know that Lord Vane is dying in...
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