The Faded Ruin
The white orchid blooms from the center of your chest, its petals translucent as cellophane, roots tangling in the wet red soil of your ribs. You wake with the scent of jasmine and ozone thick in your throat, the sheets of your apartment in the Ministry district damp with sweat, the clock on the nightstand ticking with a sluggish, arrhythmic pulse that seems to stutter every time you draw a...
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