The Faded Paradox
The orchid in the corner of the study had not bloomed in three years, its petals a withered, brown husk that clung to the stem with the desperate, desiccated tenacity of a ghost refusing to leave a body, and I sat before it in the dim, amber glow of the lamp, feeling the weight of my own breath as if it were a physical substance, a thick, viscous fog that filled the room and settled into the...
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