The Rotting Altar
The Blackwood Estate did not sit upon the land; it sank into it. Surrounded by a sea of cypress trees and a suffocating, sulfur-scented swamp, the house was a skeletal ruin of grey stone and weeping willow. It was a place where the air felt thick, as if the atmosphere itself were composed of old secrets and wet earth. Silas Blackwood was the last of his line, a man whose skin was the color of...
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