The Faded Bouquet
The rain did not fall so much as it descended, a heavy, weeping veil that obscured the windowpanes of the manor house and turned the garden into a swamp of grey mud and rotting leaves, while within the four walls of the library, the air hung thick with the scent of old paper, beeswax, and the coppery tang of blood that had seeped from the corner of Julian’s mouth as he spat it onto the Persian...
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