The Faded Bouquet
The fog in Oakhaven did not merely obscure the world; it consumed it, a thick, grey wool that muffled the sound of footsteps and the cry of gulls alike. Elias Thorne stood in the center of the village square, his constable’s tunic damp with condensation, his hands wrapped around a bouquet of black roses that had not bloomed in three years. The petals were dry as parchment, brittle and dark as...
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