The Equivalent Exchange of Emotion
(V-07: Southern Gothic) The heat in the Mississippi Delta didn't just burn; it stagnated, thick with the scent of rotting magnolias and the slow, rhythmic thrum of cicadas that sounded like a funeral dirge for the entire South. I stood on the porch of Blackwood Manor, a skeletal ruin of a house that seemed to be sinking into the black mud of the riverbank, much like the reputation of my...
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