The Iron Ledger of Blackmoor Hall
The gem arrived on a Tuesday in October, wrapped in oilcloth and smelling faintly of cardamom and old blood. Arthur Blackwood opened it on his third day back at Blackmoor Hall, a crumbling estate in the Yorkshire moors that he had inherited from an uncle he barely remembered. The stone was the size of a quail egg, dark as a midnight sky, and when he held it up to the candlelight, something...
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