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... The rain was soft—too soft for a thunderstorm. It whispered like a secret through the trees as I stood at the edge of the mansion’s gates, umbrella crooked, suitcase wet, and soul mildly suffering.
"You’re kidding me," I muttered, staring up at the gothic silhouette in front of me. "This is where I’m supposed to live now?"
The iron gate creaked open on its own. Naturally. Nothing says ’congratulations on your inheritance’ like haunted metal welcoming you with open jaws.
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