The Faded Bouquet
The orchid sat in the center of the ebony table, its petals a pale, spectral white that seemed to absorb the dim light of the chamber rather than reflect it, a perfect, unchanging geometry of life suspended in the stagnant air of the royal conservatory. Eleanor stood before it, her fingers hovering just above the smooth, cool surface of the glass vase, feeling the faint, rhythmic pulse of the...
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