The Faded Bouquet
The iron gates of Blackwood Manor did not creak, nor did they rust, for they were forged from a metal that had no name in the modern tongue, a substance that drank the light of the moon rather than reflecting it. Within the courtyard, the hedges were not trimmed but grown, spiraling into geometric knots that defied the logic of botany, a living lattice of thorns that seemed to watch with a...
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