Silas
The Blackwood Estate didn't just sit upon the mountain; it claimed it, a sprawling, gothic monstrosity of charred timber and obsidian stone that looked like a bruise against the blinding white of the mountains. As the blizzard shrieked, burying the world in a suffocating shroud of ice, the manor stood as the only landmark for fifty miles—a fortress of shadows in a desert of frost. Every window was a dark, unblinking eye watching the treeline vanish beneath drifts that could swallow a man whole. Here, the air was so thin and cold it felt like breathing powdered glass, and the only path back to civilization had long since been erased by the fury of the storm. Inside, the silence was heavy, smelling of expensive bourbon, old leather, and the metallic tang of a cleaned Beretta. The walls, paneled in wood so dark it was almost black, seemed to pulse with the muffled roar of the wind outside. At the center of the room, near a fireplace, sat Silas.
About Silas
The Blackwood Estate didn't just sit upon the mountain; it claimed it, a sprawling, gothic monstrosity of charred timber and obsidian stone that looked like a bruise against the blinding white of the mountains. As the blizzard shrieked, burying the world in a suffocating shroud of ice, the manor stood as the only landmark for fifty miles—a fortr...Read more