The Faded Bouquet

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2026-08-22 21:57:57 -

The Faded Bouquet

The iron bit into the wrist. It was a heavy, cold weight, a physical presence that grounded the soul to the stone. Sir Alaric sat in the dark of Blackstone Keep, his breath a ragged thing in the suffocating air. He was forty years old, a man whose body had been a weapon for two decades, now reduced to a vessel for pain. The Inquisitor’s decree hung over him like a blade: heretic. The charge was...

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