The Faded Bouquet
You are not human. Stop. That is the first lie. You are not a ghost. You are not a spirit. You are flesh. You are bone. You are the thing that walks the grey road with a bucket in your hand. The rain is cold. It soaks through your coat. It pools in your boots. You walk. The road is long. The road is wet. The road is yours. Behind you, the village sleeps. Or pretends to. The windows are dark....
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