The Velvet Maw
I. The manor of Blackwood stood like a rotting tooth against the grey sky of the English countryside. It was a place of velvet curtains and hidden corridors, where the air tasted of dust and old secrets. Alistair lived there in a state of opulent decay, a man whose beauty was as fragile as the porcelain he collected. Twenty years ago, the manor had been a place of laughter, until the beast...
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