The Golden Visit
The golden wisteria had eaten through the floorboards again, its thick, gnarled roots pulsing with a vitality that seemed to mock the decay of the house itself. I stood in the center of the library, my hands trembling not from the cold, but from the sheer, suffocating weight of the silence that had settled over the estate since my father’s funeral three days prior. I am Elias Thorne, and I am...
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