The Mill of Broken Hopes
The fog came in off the moors like a slow tide, swallowing the stone chimneys of Blackwood Mill one by one. Edward Blackwood stood on the ridge above the valley and watched the darkness retreat from his family's empire, piece by piece. He was twenty-four years old and already knew what his father had taken forty years to understand: this place was a beautiful, terrible thing, and it was eating...
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