The Shadow of the Oaks
The Blackwood Estate did not merely decay; it surrendered. The white paint of the columns had peeled away like dead skin, and the Spanish moss hung from the ancient oaks like the grey shrouds of forgotten ancestors. Inside, the air was thick with the smell of damp earth and old secrets. Caleb Blackwood was the last of his line. He had spent his youth in the cities of the North, trying to scrub...
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