The Withered Truth
The manor of Blackwood stood like a rotting tooth amidst the emerald suffocations of the Louisiana bayou. Here, the air was a thick soup of humidity and decay, and the cypress trees wept grey moss that looked like the hair of drowned women. Silas lived in the attic, a man whose mind was a labyrinth of forbidden geometries and ancestral grief. The local children, the offspring of sharecroppers...
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