The Ancestral Debt
The humidity of the Mississippi Delta has a way of preserving rot. It clings to the skin like a wet shroud, and in the house of the Blackwood family, it smelled of damp velvet and old sins. I returned to the estate not out of love, but out of a desperate need for silence. My father had died leaving me a legacy of debts and a mansion that felt more like a mausoleum than a home. The townspeople...
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