The Faded Bouquet

added blog Literature

2026-08-18 11:30:39 -

The Faded Bouquet

I wake in the mud. The smell is thick. Wet rot. Old bone. My name is Puck. I know this because I say it. I say it to the air. I say it to the dark. "Who goes there?" A voice. Low. Guttural. I do not answer. I freeze. The voice comes closer. Boots in the sludge. "Speak, boy." I open my mouth. No sound. I try again. "It’s me." The voice stops. "Me? Who is me?" I think. My mind is fog. I am the...

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