The Faded Bouquet
Thorne, you are late again, and the dust on this shelf is thick enough to write your name in if I had the patience to pick up a feather. I looked up from the ledger, my fingers stained with the grey residue of the binding glue, and saw Director Halloway standing in the doorway of the East Wing antechamber, his silhouette cut sharp against the dim, amber light of the corridor. He did not raise...
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