The Faded Bouquet

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2026-08-19 20:33:23 -

The Faded Bouquet

The rain did not fall so much as it hung, a gray curtain drawn tight against the windowpane. It was a cold, wet thing, the kind that seeps into the marrow before it touches the skin. I stood by the door, my hand on the iron latch, feeling the chill bite through my glove. Inside, the fire had died to embers. The room smelled of damp wool and old herbs. I turned to look at her. She sat in the...

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