The Curse of the Moors
Eleanor Ashworth arrived at Blackthorn Hall on a Tuesday in November, though the calendar in her mother's house had suggested autumn was nearly over. The moors stretched in every direction like a bruised sea, purple and black under a sky that refused to decide between rain and fog. The carriage wheels sank into mud that smelled of peat and old decay. Behind her, the driver cracked the whip...
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