The Faded Bouquet
The rain did not fall so much as it besieged the cabin, a relentless, gray curtain that blurred the line between the window and the void beyond. I sat in the only chair that still held its shape, my hands wrapped around a bouquet of black roses that had not wilted but seemed to have aged into a state of perpetual decay, their petals brittle as old parchment. The sap that wept from the stems was...
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