The Distant Crown
The mist that rolled off the Blackwater Marshes did not so much obscure the village of Oakhaven as it swallowed it, a grey, breathing fog that smelled of wet wool and old rot, clinging to the eaves of the timber-framed houses like a shroud that refused to be removed. It was in this suffocating, timeless dampness that Elias Thorne had lived for thirty years, not as a man, but as a stain on the...
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