The Stone Silence
The humidity in the bayou was a physical weight, smelling of rot and ancient, forgotten things. Silas sat in the rusted chair on the porch of the plantation house, his legs already turned to a cold, grey granite. The curse was claiming him, inch by inch, turning his flesh into the very earth he had once ruled with an iron fist. He had been the master of the valley, a man who thought he could...
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