The Faded Bouquet
The cellar beneath the old manor house of Blackwood Hall was a place where the air tasted of iron and damp rot, a subterranean throat that swallowed light and spat it back out as a pale, sickly glow from the single lantern swinging on its rusted chain, and you stood there in the center of the flagstones, your hands trembling not from fear but from a sudden, violent surge of clarity that felt...
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