The Faded Bouquet
The rain had been falling for three days, a relentless, gray curtain that blurred the boundaries between the stone walls of the manor and the wet, rotting earth beyond, creating a world where the air tasted of iron and old dust, and the only sound was the rhythmic, hollow thud of water striking the leaded glass windows of the east wing. Elias Thorne sat in the high-backed leather chair that had...
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