The Distant Legend
The frost did not come from the sky, but from the ground, a spectral chill that rose through the flagstones of the cellar and settled into the marrow of Margaret Holloway’s bones before the sun had cleared the eaves of Oakhaven. She woke to the sound of wood splitting, a sharp, dry crack that echoed in the silence of her small room, and when she pushed aside the heavy wool blanket, her loom lay...
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