The Faded Bouquet
You stand in the dark of the tower, and the silence is not empty but heavy, a physical weight pressing against your eardrums like deep water, and you can feel the pulse of the castle in your own chest, a slow, rhythmic thumping that matches the heartbeat of the stone itself, which is older than your father, older than his father, a lineage of dust and mortar that has swallowed kings and beggars...
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