The Alchemist of Ebony Manor
I. The stone was warm. That was the first thing Edgar noticed when his fingers brushed against it in the darkness of the cellar. Not the cold dampness of the stone walls around him, not the chill that had seeped into his bones since he came down to check the wine supply. This was a warmth that pulsed, faint but steady, like a sleeping thing breathing beneath the earth. He struck a match. The...
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