The Faded Bouquet
The mist in the valley of Oakhaven did not rise; it pooled. It was a thick, grey slurry that clung to the hem of the wool coat worn by Silas Vane, the town’s junior archivist. Silas was a man of precise habits and duller days. He cataloged the dead. He sorted the papers of the departed into folders labeled with dates of death and causes of ruin. It was technical work. It required a steady hand...
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