The Faded Bouquet
The rain did not fall; it descended, a grey curtain woven from the damp wool of the world. I stood on the edge of the precipice, where the cobblestones of the old city gave way to the churning, black water of the harbor. Below, the sea breathed. It was a slow, rhythmic inhalation, pulling the mist into its lungs and exhaling the cold. I was not there to look at the view. I was there to find the...
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