The Faded Bouquet
The stone of the Blackfriars Chapel did not merely stand; it breathed, a slow, tidal heave that Elara felt in the soles of her boots as she scrubbed the grime from the lower mullions of the north transept. The year was 1348, and the air inside the vaulted ceiling tasted of wet dust and old blood, a scent that clung to the back of her throat despite the heavy wool of her cloak. She was...
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