The Wistful Mirror
The oak is dying, Elias. Director Halloway’s voice cut through the hum of the air conditioning, sharp and final, as he slid the budget report across the mahogany desk. You stood there, your hands clasped behind your back, feeling the familiar heat rise in your neck. You had spent three years cataloging the tree’s genealogy, tracing its roots through the parish records of 1890, believing that...
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