The Faded Bouquet

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2026-08-21 22:35:12 -

The Faded Bouquet

The ivy eats the walls. It is hungry. It is patient. It does not stop. I watch it from my window. The glass is cold. My breath fogs the pane. I am a weaver. I weave shadows. I weave light. I do not weave cloth. I weave the air itself. This is my trade. This is my curse. I have done it for forty years. In the Court of Whispers, they call me the Silencer. They come to me with their secrets. They...

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