The Wistful Petal
The weight of the emerald brooch in my left palm is exactly forty-two grams, a fact I have verified on the brass scale in the kitchen every morning since the funeral, the same way a man might weigh his own dwindling hope against the grain of the day. I am Arthur Vane, forty years old, a junior archivist at the county library, and I am currently counting the hours remaining in my life until the...
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