The Faded Bouquet
The banquet hall of the St. Jude’s Orphanage, a cavernous relic of Victorian optimism now repurposed as the administrative heart of a sprawling non-profit, was a place where the air itself seemed to possess a weight, a thick, gelatinous consistency that pressed against the lungs and slowed the heartbeat to a sluggish, arrhythmic crawl. I stood in the center of the room, surrounded by the...
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