The Faded Bouquet
The banquet hall of the Abbey of St. Jude was not merely a room but a lung, a vast, ribbed cavity of stone and shadow that inhaled the noise of the city and exhaled it as a cold, damp mist of suspicion. You stood at the periphery of the great oak table, your hands resting on the cold grain, watching the wax tapers gutter and weep their orange tears onto the silver platters, each drop a small,...
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