The Faded Bouquet
The bouquet sat on Clara’s desk, a stark cluster of black roses with petals that seemed to drink the gray light of the archive. It was October 1893, and I, Elias Thorne, a junior archivist of forty years, found the flowers fresh and impossible, their stems still weeping dark sap onto the wood where my sister had died five years prior. I wanted to secure my promotion by proving the archive’s...
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