The Faded Bouquet

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2026-08-18 11:19:34 -

The Faded Bouquet

The cellar smelled of wet stone and old blood. It was a thick, cloying scent, heavy in the air, tasting of iron on the back of my tongue. We were all there. Me. My wife, Sarah. And the others. The men from the village. They sat in a circle on the cold floor, their faces pale and slick with sweat. In the center, on a rotting table, lay the object. A single, blackened rose. Its petals were curled...

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