The Faded Bouquet
The fog that rolled into Oakhaven did not merely obscure the village; it swallowed it, a thick, grey wool that muffled the sound of Elias Thorne’s boots as he trudged down the single lane toward the magistrate’s manor. Elias, a constable of fifty-two years with two decades of service etched into the deep lines of his face, carried a desire so specific and rigid it felt like a steel rod in his...
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