The Wistful Petal
The letter lay on the mahogany desk, its seal broken by the cold, precise edge of a letter opener, and I read the words three times, each repetition stripping away another layer of the illusion that I was still the woman who had once held the entire history of the Royal Botanical Institute in the steady, unshaking architecture of her hands. December 14, 1893. The gaslight in the archive hummed...
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