The Faded Bouquet
The dream was not a sequence of events but a single, sustained vibration, a hum of static that filled the air of the keep with a frequency that made the teeth ache and the vision blur until the world was nothing but a wash of indigo and grey. In this spectral twilight, Elias Thorne did not sleep; he hovered, suspended in the heavy, damp air of the dungeon, where the smell of rotting wood and...
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