The Wistful Petal
The ink on the intake form was still wet when Arthur Vane noticed the smell, a thick, coppery tang that rose from the baseboards of the main hall like steam from a hot engine. He rubbed his thumb against the edge of the desk, feeling the grit of the wood, and looked up at the ceiling where the plaster was beginning to blister. The Blackwood Manor estate had been acquired by the county archive...
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