The Faded Bouquet
The candle flame in my study does not dance; it trembles with a rhythmic, arrhythmic shudder that mirrors the pulsing of the dark veins now visible beneath the translucent skin of my left hand, a physiological anomaly that defies the cold logic of the fourteenth-century medical texts I have spent forty years compiling. I am Elias, a scholar of the monastic order, and I sit before the *Codex...
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