The Iron Crown of Blackmoor Hall
The wren flew first. That was how Edgar Blackwood remembered the moment his other life began—not with a thunderclap or a vision, but with a small brown bird catching light in the Yorkshire air as he tumbled from the oak branch and struck his head upon the garden wall. When he opened his eyes, the world had not changed. The same slate roof of Blackmoor Hall loomed above him, the same coal smoke...
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