The Wistful Petal
The first thing you notice is the weight of the rejection letter. It sits on the desk, a single sheet of heavy cream stock, weighing exactly as much as the silence in the room. You have counted the days since your last submission: twelve. You have counted the hours since the last time Director Halloway looked you in the eye: forty-eight. The air in the archive smells of dry rot and floor wax, a...
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