The Wistful Petal
What does a woman owe when her labor has already been paid in blood? Chapter One The question hung in the air, dry as the dust of the Black Belt, as Mireille Fontenot woke with the taste of iron on her tongue. She was forty-two, her hands trembling not from age but from the sheer weight of the task before her. The sky outside the tin roof of the loft was so clear that the stars seemed to...
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