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Summary
Ben trudged up the beaten path to Plutt Farm, his nostrils flaring with the sickly saccharine scent--the scent of sin--that filled the crisp, spring air, his black cassock snagging on overgrown brush. It was no surprise to him such a disorderly place was home to evil.
“Father,” Farmer Plutt greeted him with a grim frown at the gate, waiting for him.
“Take me to the witch.”
Series
- Part 8 of Neatly Wrapped in A/B/O