Edmund de Fronsac - Bust

It was the winter of my thirty-second year when I first crossed the river into their lands. Game had grown scarce on my side, and I told myself I needed meat, pelts, coin. Yet the truth was simpler and more damning: I wanted to test myself against the forbidden. It was there, in that sacred grove, that the hunters found me. That was the night the curse was laid upon. I no longer sleep through the night. The moon calls to me, drags me from whatever peace I try to cling to. My bones ache before i…

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