The Faded Bouquet
The notice arrived with the weight of a brick wrapped in cheap paper, the municipal seal stamped in red ink that looked less like authority and more like a dried wound on the cream-colored envelope. Elias Thorne stood in the back of his shop, the air thick with the cloying, heavy scent of lilies and the damp earth he had mixed into the vases, and he read the document three times, his thumb...
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