The manor of Oakhaven had always been a place of quiet sorrow, even before the blight took hold. Now, draped in the skeletal fingers of dead ivy and choked by the rust-colored dust of the withered gardens, it was a monument to a forgotten grief. Silas, the last gardener, was as much a fixture of this decay as the crumbling stone walls. His hands, gnarled and earth-stained from a lifetime of coaxing