The Rotting Codex
The Rotting Codex Act I: The Spark The library at Whitfield Manor smelled of mildew and old paper, and Eleanor Whitfield had not left its shelves in three months. It was 1955, and the manor sat on a bluff overlooking the Mississippi River, its white columns peeling like sunburned skin, its roof sagging under the weight of a century of humid summers and heavier secrets. Eleanor was thirty-five,...
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