The Faded Bouquet
The air in the undercroft tasted of iron and old breath. Elias pressed his palm against the cold stone, feeling the vibration of the dust beneath his fingers. He was thirty years old, the Royal Archivist of the Court of King Henry, and he had come here to save his sister. Margaret was wasting away, her skin turning translucent, her eyes fixed on a point beyond the ceiling of her sickroom. The...
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