The Faded Bouquet
In the deep, breathing dark of the cellar beneath the Ashworth manor, Thomas did not sleep. He lay curled upon the cold stone floor, his knees drawn to his chest, while the air around him thickened with the scent of damp earth and something older, something that tasted of iron and forgotten years. Above him, the floorboards creaked under the weight of a house that had stood for three hundred...
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