The Faded Bouquet

added blog Literature

2026-08-17 22:07:29 -

The Faded Bouquet

The fog rolled off the moors like a living thing, thick and grey and smelling of wet wool and old iron. I stood on the platform at Harwick, watching the steam from the locomotive curl into the mist, feeling the vibration of the engine in the soles of my boots. It was a Tuesday, or perhaps a Wednesday; time had lost its sharp edges here, blurring into a continuous, damp present. I was looking...

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