The Bloodline of the Bayou
The air in the parish of St. Jude was a thick, humid soup that smelled of rotting cypress and old secrets. Silas Thorne lived in the shadow of the ancestral manor, a crumbling gothic monstrosity that seemed to be sinking slowly into the black waters of the swamp. The manor was not just a house; it was a ledger of the family's sins, its walls stained with the damp of a century of decay. Silas...
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