The Distant Crown
The mist that rolled off the Blackwater Fens did not merely obscure the path to the Old Mill; it seemed to possess a weight, a physical density that pressed against the chest like a hand, squeezing the air from the lungs of anyone foolish enough to walk into its grey, breathing embrace. Elias Thorne, a man whose spine had curved under the invisible bow of thirty years’ service to the County...
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