The Faded Bouquet

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2026-08-19 18:43:58 -

The Faded Bouquet

The dream was not dark, but gray. A static hum of color, like wet ash suspended in the air. Margaret stood in a field that had no edges. The grass was silver, brittle, and cold to the touch. She wore a dress of heavy velvet, black as a bruise, and the fabric dragged through the silver blades. In her hand, she held a bouquet. It was not made of flowers, but of small, polished stones. They were...

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