Southern Sins

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2026-06-02 10:48:49 -

Southern Sins

The house smelled of damp wood and something else—something older, like the smell of a book that has been left in the rain too many times and then never dried out properly. I stood in my father's hallway, looking at the door that led to the basement. It was a wooden door, painted white twenty years ago, maybe more, and the paint had been peeling for as long as I could remember. There was a lock...

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