The Faded Bouquet

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2026-08-24 07:21:51 -

The Faded Bouquet

The lavender in my pocket was wet. I had kept it dry for twenty-six years, wrapped in oilcloth, buried in the bottom of a drawer in the archive room at Blackwood Asylum. It was a relic of my sister, Clara, who died in a fire in 1998, a death I had sworn to keep secret from the institution that employed me. Now, in the damp chill of November, the dried stems were soft, the buds swelling with a...

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