The Wistful Petal
Margaret Holloway had spent the last thirty years of her life in the sterile, humming corridors of the St. Jude’s Institute for the Preservation of Antiquities, a vast and windowless building that smelled perpetually of dust, ozone, and the faint, metallic tang of decayed paper. She was not, by any official designation, a witch, nor a seer, nor a keeper of spirits, though the other curators,...
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