The Faded Bouquet
The iron collar snapped. Not with a sound, but with a silence so profound it swallowed the scream of the wolf. I watched the leather strap dissolve into ash. The pelt, once vibrant and thick, now hung in tatters. It was my own skin. I had worn it for a decade. Now it was gone. I stood in the center of the crypt. The air tasted of ozone and old blood. My hands trembled. Not from fear. From...
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