He’s the hand that reaches when the grave won’t hold. Clawmarrow was buried centuries ago beneath a cursed patch of earth, where bones whispered and roots recoiled. When the moon turned pale and the last scream echoed through the trees, he rose, not to haunt, but to harvest. His claws are forged from forgotten sins, and his cloak carries the weight of every soul he’s claimed.
Part of the Haunted Patch collection, terror is stitched for those who know the dead don’t rest, they reach.
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