The Faded Bouquet
The feast was a mistake. You know this now. You remember the smell of roasted pork and the wet, heavy heat of the cellar, the way the candles guttered in the draft that slipped under the oak doors. It was the eve of the Saint’s Day, and the village of Blackwood was supposed to be silent. But you had invited them. All of them. The judges. The magistrates. The men who wore the black robes and the...
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