The Faded Bouquet
The rain did not fall so much as it was exhaled by the sky, a heavy, sulfurous breath that settled into the cobblestones of the old quarter with a sticky, persistent cling. You stand before the mirror in your study, the glass dark and warped by the dampness that has been eating into the plaster of the house for decades, and you look at the hand that trembles slightly as you lift the glass of...
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