The Faded River
The frost had not yet broken the silence of the conservatory, but the air within was thick with the scent of rotting lilies and old paper, a perfume that clung to the back of my throat like a forgotten prayer. I stood before the glass, my breath misting the pane, watching the garden where the ivy had strangled the old oak, its leaves blackened and curled in the sudden, unnatural heat that had...
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