The Faded Bouquet
The damp of the Oakhaven archives was not merely moisture but a living thing, a heavy, fungal breath that settled into the joints of Inquisitor Silas Vane, forty years old and already crumbling from the inside out. He stood before the crypt of his predecessor, the candlelight flickering against the stone, illuminating the single, withered bouquet of black roses that had been discovered in the...
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