Sample V-07: The Southern Gothic Secret
The humidity in the Louisiana bayou was a physical weight, a wet blanket that smelled of sulfur, decaying lilies, and old sins. Julian Blackwood stood on the rotting veranda of the Blackwood Manor, watching the Spanish moss hang from the cypress trees like the tattered shrouds of a forgotten army. Julian had died in a swamp ambush in a war that didn't exist on any official map. He had woken up...
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