The Faded Bouquet
The orchids in the case were dying. Not slowly. Not with the dignified fade of autumn leaves. They were rotting from the inside out, a wet, sweet decay that clung to the air like a heavy curtain. Julian Vane stood before the glass, his reflection a ghostly smear against the white blossoms. He did not blink. He had not blinked in an hour. The shop was silent. The rain tapped against the high...
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