The Faded Bouquet
The chandelier at Blackwood Manor did not so much hang as it hovered, a heavy iron cage of glass that caught the gaslight and fractured it into a hundred trembling shards across the room. It was November of 1893, and the air inside the dining hall was thick with the cloying scent of lilies and the low, predatory hum of thirty guests who had come not to celebrate, but to witness. Elias Thorne...
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