The Faded Bouquet

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2026-08-20 16:59:21 -

The Faded Bouquet

The blood is on your hands. It is not yours. You smell iron and wet wool. The air is thick, heavy with the scent of rotting lilies and old dust. You are in the corridor. The stone floor is cold under your bare feet. You walk fast. Your breath comes in short, sharp bursts. You are hunting. You are looking for the thief. The palace is a mouth. It swallows sound. It swallows light. The walls are...

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