The Faded Bouquet
The fire did not begin with a spark, nor with a whisper, but with a sudden, violent erasure of the light that had held the room together for so long, and in the same breath the shadows stretched across the stone floor like grasping fingers, pulling the air tight around Elias Thorne’s throat, a man who had crossed half the continent to stand in this damp, echoing hall and who now found himself...
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