The Wistful Dinner
The St. Jude’s Institute smells of dry paper and the faint, sweet rot of dying things, a scent that has settled into your clothes and your hair over the twelve years you have served here as a senior archivist. You are Elara, thirty-two, and your hands are steady as you open the final, uncatalogued ledger of the late Director Halloway, a task you have undertaken because the board has given you...
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