They’d left the library untouched. As Sabela stepped over the rotten, splintered wood of a doorway hacked to pieces, she wondered how it had survived. The rest of the manor was gutted. Below, walking the grass between its scorched and crumbling walls, she could make out fireplaces in the stone, stories up—rooms where the timber ceilings and floors had burned away. The whole of the North Wing gaped towards the open sky.
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Bittermoor Manor
