The White Python of Blackwood
The rain fell on Blackwood Manor as it always did in November—relentless, indifferent, the kind of weather that seeped into stone and bone alike. Eighteen-year-old Eliza Ashworth stood at the edge of the graveyard, her small hands pressed against the fresh earth of the mound that marked where Madeleine Blackwood lay beneath. The rain did not bother Eliza. She had spent eight years in places...
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