The Faded Bouquet
The conservation knife sat in Elara Vane’s palm, its blade a sliver of hardened steel that caught the grey light filtering through the high, barred windows of Blackwood Manor. It was a heavy tool, weighted at the handle to balance the precision required for cutting aged silk, and Elara felt its mass settle into the meat of her thumb as she adjusted her grip, her eyes fixed on the fraying edge...
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