The Faded Bouquet

added blog Literature

2026-08-19 19:59:46 -

The Faded Bouquet

The rain in the Blackwood district did not fall so much as it hung, a wet, gray shroud that smelled of rusted iron and wet dog. I walked the perimeter with my boots sinking into the mud, the leather of my uniform stiff and cold against my skin, the weight of my service revolver a dull ache in my hip pocket. It was the autumn of 1893, a time when the factories belched their smoke into the...

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