The Faded Bouquet

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2026-08-19 07:25:10 -

The Faded Bouquet

The fog did not lift. It thickened. It pressed against the windows of the Keep, a wet, gray hand smearing the glass. I stood in the center of the hall. The air tasted of iron and old wine. My sword was at my hip, but it felt heavy. A dead weight. A promise I had broken. "Is he here?" I asked. My voice sounded small. Thin. Like a thread pulled taut. Thomas stood by the fire. He did not look up....

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