The Faded Bouquet

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2026-08-19 05:38:04 -

The Faded Bouquet

You dream of ink. It is not the black of soot or the brown of blood. It is the blue-black of a bruise under the skin. It pools in the hollows of your neck. It stains the cuffs of your shirt. You are standing in the hall. The carpet is red. It is thick. It is old. You can feel the fibers digging into your soles. You cannot move your feet. They are sunk. They are stuck. The house is quiet. Too...

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