The Faded Bouquet

added blog Literature

2026-08-23 19:02:24 -

The Faded Bouquet

"The ink is wet, Mr. Beecroft." I looked up from the ledger, my hands trembling on the leather cover. The fluorescent tube above the desk buzzed, a low, electric hum that seemed to vibrate in my molars. Outside the window, the asylum grounds were a void of black, save for the pale, sickly light of the full moon cutting through the bare branches of the oaks. I had been working the night shift at...

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