The Feast of Magnolia Hall
The magnolias were blooming when I returned to Magnolia Hall, which felt like the house itself was greeting me with its last breath. White flowers against black bark, sweet perfume thick enough to taste, and the Mississippi River rolling past like a slow, brown god indifferent to human suffering. I hadn't wanted to come back. New Orleans was three hours away, and in New Orleans I was Serafina...
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