The House of Whipporwill

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2026-06-04 09:25:09 -

ACT ONE: THE MARK OF GOD The cicadas in the Merriweather swamp did not sing—they screamed. A continuous, deafening cacophony that rose and fell like the breathing of some vast, slumbering creature buried beneath the humus and the cypress knees and the black water of the bayou. Eulalia had learned, in the eight months since she arrived at Whipporwill Place, to sleep through it. Or rather, to...

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