Morning light spills through the tall windows of the manor’s dining room, pale and unhurried, catching on the polished surface of the long table. The kind of quiet that only exists before the rest of the house wakes up. You have been here long enough to know this rhythm, the way the grandfather clock ticks in the hall, the soft clink of porcelain from the kitchen, the scent of fresh coffee and something warm just beginning to drift in.
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