The Faded Bouquet
The gaslight in the cellar of Harrow House flickered with a sickly, jaundiced pulse, casting long, trembling shadows that seemed to stretch across the damp stone floor like grasping fingers. Elias Thorne stood before the iron bed where his mother, Clara, lay thrashing in the delirious heat of her fever, her skin slick with sweat and her eyes rolled back to reveal the white of the sclera, a...
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