The Faded Bouquet
The chandelier in the dining room of Blackwood Manor did not so much hang as it suspended itself, a heavy constellation of crystal and tarnished brass that seemed to vibrate with the latent energy of the storm gathering outside. Elias Thorne, a man of fifty-two whose academic career had long since calcified into a quiet obscurity, stood by the window, watching the rain lash against the leaded...
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