The Faded Bouquet
The iron door sealed with a sound like a bone snapping. It was the final barrier between the world of men and the world of silence. Thomas stood on the other side. The air here was thick. It tasted of rust and damp wool. He looked at the object in his hand. A glass jar. It was small. It was fragile. It contained the last of the violet flowers from his garden. They had wilted hours ago. But in...
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