The Faded Bouquet

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2026-08-24 13:47:01 -

The Faded Bouquet

The ink was already moving. It pooled in the creases of the parchment, black and wet, smelling of wet earth and old copper. I held the page flat with my left hand, my knuckles white against the brittle surface. My right hand hovered over the final line of Silas’s journal. I needed to read it. I needed to decode it before the Archivist arrived, or I was finished. The Ink Blight did not care...

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