The Faded Bouquet

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2026-08-22 09:37:48 -

The Faded Bouquet

The dinner table was set for six, the china white and gleaming under the gaslight, but only two of us sat at it. My wife, Clara, looked like a ghost who had wandered into the wrong century. Her skin was translucent, stretched tight over her cheekbones, and her eyes were sunken pits in a face that had once been round and warm. I, Elias Thorne, forty-two years old and a glover by trade, had spent...

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