The Gospel of the Parasite
The red clay of Georgia has a way of swallowing things. It swallows the rain, it swallows the houses, and it swallows the people who are too weak to fight the heat. In the town of Blackwood Creek, the clay was the only thing that never lied. I, Silas, was the same. I was a man of the clay—a bastard son of a fallen house, a man with no name and a heart full of cold, calculated ambition. In a...
0 Комментарии 0 Поделились 14 Просмотры 0 предпросмотр