The Serpent of Thornfield Manor
I. The swamp did not forgive. It never had. Silas Thorne knew this the way a man knows his own name—through repetition, through pain, through the slow accumulation of things he had learned and wished he had not. He stood at the edge of the cypress swamp behind Thornfield Manor, his boots sinking into mud that smelled of decay and something older, something that predated the manor, predated the...
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