A Banshee’s Tale


A cool Savannah breeze blew softly through the house, the lace Victorian draperies a semblance to a dancer whisking methodically across a ballroom floor. There was still a hint of humidity in the air, but it offered some relief from the scorching afternoon heat.

Damon sat at the table, drawing a picture of a beautiful lady. He was always considered by his teachers to be a savant or a prodigy of sorts with a rare talent for putting pencil to paper and yielding a flawless likeness to his subject. He loved to draw, sometimes to his detriment, spending nearly all of his time with a pencil in his hand and none of it with a baseball or a fishing pole…(more)

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