The Faded Apartment
The ceramic owl had been cracking since the morning it arrived, a hairline fracture running from its left eye to the base of its wing, a jagged scar that Helen could feel with the pad of her thumb even when she wasn’t touching it. It sat on the mahogany desk in the archive room, a pale, unblinking sentinel amidst the dust motes that danced in the slant of afternoon light filtering through the...
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