The Masquerade of Pain
The humidity of the Mississippi Delta had a way of preserving decay. At Blackwood Manor, the air tasted of damp earth and old secrets. Elias sat in a velvet armchair, his legs draped in a heavy silk cloth that hid the twisted, useless limbs of his lower body. To the guests of his weekly salon, he was the enigmatic scion of a fallen house, a man of refined taste and mysterious ailments. Elias...
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