The Faded River
The water in the cellar tasted of iron and old rain, a metallic tang that coated the back of your throat before you even swallowed, and you remembered that taste because it was the same as the one that filled the air in the apothecary shop, thick and cloying, smelling of dried lavender and decay. You stood before the glass counter, your fingers trembling not from cold but from the frantic,...
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