The Crimson Orb
I was twelve years old when the fire took my parents. It happened on a November evening in 1872, during a thunderstorm that had been building over the Yorkshire moors since afternoon. The sky had turned the colour of bruised iron, and the wind was pulling at the manor's chimneys like a restless child. I was in the library, reading by the light of a single oil lamp, when I heard it—a sound like...
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