The Wistful Petal
The house had been rotting for a century before I arrived, which was a mercy, for if it had been pristine I might have had the arrogance to try and save it. I did not come to save anything; I came to be buried, or perhaps merely to be kept, like a specimen in formaldehyde, suspended in the amber of a time that no longer existed. The walls were not merely damp; they were sweating, exhaling the...
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