The Crimson Vein of Blackmoor Hall
Act I The rain had been falling for three days when Arthur found her in the woods behind Blackmoor Hall. He was fifteen, though he looked twelve from the way he carried himself—shoulders hunched, eyes down, as if apologizing for taking up space. His parents had been gone seven years, swallowed by the Yorkshire moors on a mushroom-gathering trip that went wrong. The villagers said wolves. Arthur...
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