The Faded Bouquet

added blog Literature

2026-08-21 16:23:12 -

The Faded Bouquet

The carriage wheels groaned against the gravel, a sound like old bones breaking. Margaret held her hat tight against the wind. The air smelled of wet rot and iron. She was not a ghost, she told herself. She was flesh. She was bone. She was the wife of Lord Ashworth. Or she had been. The distinction blurred in the gray mist that clung to the valley floor. They arrived at the estate as the sun...

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