The Faded Bouquet

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2026-08-25 00:38:24 -

The Faded Bouquet

Act I My hands were already black. I scrubbed them against the rough wool of the apron, but the ink-like veins only spread, tracing the map of my labor. The damp in the plaster of the crypt was a physical weight, pressing against my lungs as I ground the dried foxglove in the mortar. I was trying to save the parish, or so I told myself, believing the Bloom was a fever, a conquerable thing of...

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