The Faded Bouquet
The shawl was too heavy for the trunk, the velvet so dense and dark that it seemed to swallow the light from the single bulb hanging above the packing station, and Elara’s hands, roughened by decades of handling brittle paper, trembled as she folded the edges to fit the lid. She was forty-two, a senior archivist at the Holloway Palace, a position that had once commanded respect but now felt...
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