The Faded Bouquet

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2026-08-17 11:54:38 -

The Faded Bouquet

You stand at the threshold. The door is heavy oak. It smells of varnish and old rain. You are leaving. The garden outside is a ruin. The roses are black. The stems are snapped. They lie on the wet grass like broken bones. You look at them. You do not feel. You feel only the cold. It seeps into your marrow. Behind you, the palace breathes. The walls are stone. The torches burn low. The air is...

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