The Faded Bouquet

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2026-08-17 21:28:10 -

The Faded Bouquet

The road is wet. It is gray. You are walking. Your boots are heavy. Mud clogs the treads. You pull at them. They do not come free. You step. You pull. The mud holds. You are not a man. Not yet. Or perhaps you never were. You are something else. A thing of bone and breath and cold iron will. You walk the moor. The heather is black. The sky is lower. It presses down on your skull. You carry the...

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