The Faded Bouquet
The rusted iron gate of the Blackwood Asylum stood against the bruised sky of 1893, a jagged tooth in the jaw of the moor, and Elias Vane stood before it with his back to the world he had spent thirty years defending. In his hands, he held a bouquet of white lilies, their petals withered and curling inward like dead fingers, yet they pulsed with a faint, cold bioluminescence that cast long,...
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