The Faded Bouquet

added blog Literature

2026-08-18 16:09:25 -

The Faded Bouquet

The ink on my hands did not wash off, not truly, but it faded into the grain of my skin, becoming a topography of dark veins and bruised purples that mapped the shape of my labor. I woke in the cold, damp silence of the cellar beneath the manor, the air thick with the scent of damp stone and old paper, and I knew immediately that I was still dreaming, or perhaps that this was the waking world...

0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews