The Faded Bouquet
The chandelier above the long mahogany table did not sway, though the wind outside howled against the leaded glass of the Blackwood Manor’s east wing, a sound that seemed to vibrate in the marrow of Elara’s bones, a low, resonant thrum that matched the frantic, irregular beating of her own heart. She sat at the far end of the table, her hands folded in her lap, her fingers interlaced so tightly...
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