The Faded Bouquet

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2026-08-20 12:13:31 -

The Faded Bouquet

The wine was red. Darker than garnet, blacker than night. It pooled in the crystal glasses, trembling slightly as if the air itself were holding its breath. We were sitting at the long oak table in the cellar, a space that smelled of damp earth and old roots. There were five of us. I was at the end. Margaret was at the head. She looked like a queen who had forgotten she was supposed to be...

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