The Faded Bouquet
The hour was three-fourths spent, and Elias Thorne counted the seconds in his head like coins being weighed for a debt he could not pay. One, two, three; the candle in the antechamber guttered, the flame trembling as if the air itself were holding its breath. He held Elara against his chest, her small body warm and heavy, a living counterweight to the cold dread that had settled into his...
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