The Faded Bouquet

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2026-08-24 10:48:08 -

The Faded Bouquet

You hold the quill. It is cold, colder than the iron desk beneath your palm, colder than the November air that seeps through the cracks of the windowpane. The ink is black, so deep it seems to drink the light from the gas lamps. You are Elias Thorne. You are thirty years old, and you are a scribe. You are also a thief, a forger, a man who has spent six years in the shadows of the Court of...

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