The Golden Farce
The frost did not merely settle upon the valley of Aethelgard; it invaded, a creeping, silent plague that turned the breath of men into jagged shards of ice in their throats and the soil into a hard, unyielding tomb. In the village of Oakhaven, huddled at the edge of the Whispering Pines, the air tasted of iron and old blood, a metallic tang that coated the tongue and refused to be washed away...
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