Okay, it’s time to write a southern gothic novel – the kind with forbidden love, ghosts, murder, creaks heard at night, sexy family secrets, and so on. Ready, imaginary readers? I’ll provide the illustrations and a prompt, you fill in the blanks.
She hasn’t seen the ruined plantation house since that fateful day 40 years ago, but she still remembered . . .
The sight of the barred windows brought a shudder. That hot night in July . . .
She recalled the lane – how innocent it first appeared!
Fearfully, she stepped inside. There was the hall, the old fireplace . . .
The sight of the stairs brought a slight shudder. She’d waited upstairs, only to discover the truth . . .
Fleeing the house, Erythrinia found herself among the live oaks – under whose branches she had first –
The Spanish moss dripped like blood from the branches . .
There had always been only one way out of Tibwin. For so long she had been locked in . . .
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