The Faded Ruin
Mara sat in the center of the dining room, her back straight against the high-backed chair, watching the orchid in the corner. It was a *Phalaenopsis*, white and fragile, its petals curling inward as if trying to hide from the light. To the untrained eye, it was a decorative object, a silent witness to the sterile perfection of the Whitmore household. To Mara, it was a mirror. The plant was...
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