The Faded Bouquet

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2026-08-23 03:30:12 -

The Faded Bouquet

The salt spilled from the scoop, white and gritty against the black soot of the cellar floor, and I kicked it into the cracks with the toe of my boot, the motion sharp and rhythmic, a heartbeat made of labor. It was November 1893, and the air in Blackwood Manor tasted of wet wool and rotting wood, a smell that had seeped into my clothes so deeply I could no longer distinguish my own scent from...

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