The Faded Bouquet

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2026-08-20 17:31:26 -

The Faded Bouquet

The iron gate was rusted shut. Malcolm stood in the yard. The mud sucked at his boots. He did not pull them free. He waited. The wind howled through the bare branches of the oak. It sounded like a voice. It sounded like a warning. He ignored it. He had learned to ignore the wind. He had learned to ignore the cold. He had learned to ignore the pain in his left hand. The hand was his own. It was...

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