The Faded Bouquet

added blog Literature

2026-08-24 19:04:38 -

The Faded Bouquet

The match struck, sputtered, and died. I struck it again. The wick caught, flaring with a sharp, acrid snap that stung the back of my hand. I held the flame to the hem of the blue cotton dress. It did not burn. The fabric did not blacken, did not curl, did not smoke. It merely absorbed the heat, holding it like a sponge holds water, until the match burned down to a nub in my fingers and fell...

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