The Faded Bouquet

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2026-08-20 00:53:24 -

The Faded Bouquet

The hall smelled of rot and perfume, a cloying mix that hung heavy in the still air. It was a feast for the dead, or so it seemed. The chandeliers swayed without wind, casting long, trembling shadows against walls peeling in long strips. In the center of the room stood Elias Thorne. He was a man carved from stone and regret, his face a map of lines drawn by years of quiet suffering. He did not...

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