The Faded Bouquet

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2026-08-20 22:08:31 -

The Faded Bouquet

The iron gates of the Abbey of Saint Jude groaned as they swung open, a sound like the grinding of ancient bones. You stand before them, your fingers raw from the cold, the weight of the grey wool cloak pressing down on your shoulders like a second skin. It is a garment of penance, heavy with the dampness of the moor and the scent of wet stone. You are here because you must be. The summons did...

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