The Rotting Manor of Blackwood
The manor did not sit upon the hill; it loomed over it, a skeletal monument of grey stone and weeping ivy that seemed to inhale the very light of the valley. In the village below, the people spoke of Blackwood in hushed tones, as if mentioning its name might invite the house to notice them. For three generations, the manor had been a place of secrets, but none were as deep or as dark as the one...
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