The Faded Bouquet
The lilies were white, stark against the dark mahogany of the desk, and their scent was a physical assault, cloying and thick as rot. Captain Elias Thorne stood in the center of the study, his hand resting on the hilt of his ceremonial sword, his breath coming in short, controlled bursts. Three years had passed since Clara’s death, and the house had settled into a rigid, mournful silence, a...
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