The Faded Bouquet
The rain did not fall so much as it was poured, a thick, grey slurry that turned the cobblestones of Blackwood Lane into a slick, treacherous mirror reflecting the soot-stained brickwork of the mills. Elara Vane stood on the wet pavement, her shoes already ruined, her fingers digging into the wool of her coat as if she could anchor herself to the earth. Her nose, that sensitive, overworked...
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