The Faded Bouquet
The rain did not fall so much as it was extruded from the sky, a relentless, gray slurry that seeped into the very marrow of the stone walls of the Blackwood estate, a Victorian monstrosity of blackened oak and iron that clung to the hillside like a tumor on the flesh of the Vermont forest, and within that damp, decaying sanctuary, Elias Thorne stood before the window, his fingers resting on...
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