could make the barren fruitful. It was just folklore until Eleanor Montgomery arrived, her son Ethan, heir to a sprawling in
he day our healthy babies were born, he stood over me, cruel and triumphant, and smoth
mical spill, annihilating my entire valley, my home, my peop
as my very essence, my gift of life, deemed a curse worthy of su
ery day Eleanor Montgomery' s black car would wind its way up our mountain road. This time,