The Faded Bouquet
The lilies were not merely dried; they were shattered, their petals crumbled into a brittle, ochre dust that clung to Elias Thorne’s fingers like ash from a fire that had long since burned out. He stood in the sub-basement of St. Jude’s, the air thick with the scent of damp rot and old paper, holding the remains of a bouquet that had been stuffed into a hollow in the wall behind a collapsed...
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