The Wistful Incense
The crack in the boundary stone did not appear with a sound, but with a silence so profound it felt like a physical weight pressing against my eardrums, and when I stepped out of the cold, damp air of the farmhouse into the grey pre-dawn of November 1342, the jagged fissure running from the base of the rock to its weathered summit seemed to pulse with a faint, sickly light that had no business...
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