The Faded Bouquet
The ink on the ledger did not dry so much as it sank, bleeding into the coarse grain of the parchment like a wound that refused to close, and Margot Elspeth watched the black fluid seep into the fibers with a dread that was physical, a cold weight settling in her stomach that had nothing to do with the hunger that had been her constant companion for the past three weeks. She held the quill, its...
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