The Wistful Letter
The envelope arrived on a Tuesday, the paper brittle and yellowed with the specific dampness of the coast, and I knew before I opened it that the Scent would follow me back into the house. It was a smell I had tried to scrub from my pores for two years, a cloying mixture of camphor, rotting lilies, and the metallic tang of copper sulfate, but it never left; it merely waited in the lining of my...
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