The Vine That Kills
The vine killed the yew tree in silence. Richard Hartley knelt in the damp earth of the New Forest, his fingers tracing the dark green tendrils that coiled around the ancient trunk like a lover's embrace. The bark had gone black where the vine made contact, and a sickly sweet odour rose from the wound—something between rotting orchids and poisoned honey. He had seen this pattern before. Not in...
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