The Faded Bouquet
The fluorescent lights in the municipal morgue hummed with a low, electric frequency that seemed to vibrate directly against the base of Elias Thorne’s skull, a sound that had become indistinguishable from the silence of the room itself. He sat alone in the sterile, tiled office, his hands resting on the edge of the metal table where his mother, Martha, lay rigid and waxy, her skin taking on...
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