The Faded Bouquet

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2026-08-20 11:51:40 -

The Faded Bouquet

The room smells of rotting lilies and wet wool. You are standing in the center of the grand hall, but the floor is not stone. It is made of compacted snow. It is winter here, though it is July outside. The windows are frosted over with intricate ferns of ice, sealing you in. You hold a bouquet. It is heavy. The stems are black, thick as your wrist. The flowers are white, but they are not...

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