The Faded Bouquet
You are standing in the foyer of the Blackwood Institute, a place that smells of wet stone and old paper, the air thick with the silence of centuries. It is a building that seems to breathe, its high vaulted ceilings drawing the eye upward into shadows that do not quite recede. You have come here to sell, or perhaps to surrender, the last of your father’s inventory: a collection of...
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