The Faded Photograph
The solstice was three days away, and the air in the Royal Botanical Conservatory tasted of copper and decay. You stood before the Orchid of St. Jude, your fingers trembling as you adjusted the humidity dial, knowing that every degree of warmth you gave it cost you a fraction of your own. The plant was ancient, a relic of a time when the Conservatory held power over life itself, and its violet...
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