The Iron Cauldron of Blackmoor Hall

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2026-05-30 10:51:02 -

I The mist over the Yorkshire moors did not lift in May. It clung to the broken stones of Blackmoor Hall like a shroud, seeping through the cracks in the leaded windows and settling into the bones of those unfortunate enough to dwell within its walls. Edgar Blackmoor, seventeen years old and already accustomed to the taste of ash, sat on the edge of a narrow iron bed and stared at his hands....

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