The night before the premier of *Swan Lake*, Blackwood Hall was enveloped in an eerie, breathless calm. A light dusting of fresh snow had fallen over the rolling lawns of Hampstead Heath, muting the world in pristine white. Inside the manor’s grand library, a fire burned low in the hearth, casting long, dancing amber shadows across the soaring walnut bookshelves and the framed manuscript of Tchaikovsky’s score. Christian stood by…
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