The Faded Bouquet
The candle in the archive flickers, not from a draft, but because the air itself seems to thicken around the open pages of the *Codex Umbra*, and you, Elias, press your thumb against the vellum as if to anchor it to the physical world, your knuckles white, your breath shallow in the damp, stone-choked silence of the fourteenth-century abbey. You are forty years old, a scholar of medieval...
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