The Silver Pen
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The Willow's Lament
She knew these woods. She passed the ruins of what were once the slave quarters. Sadness lingered there, and Marian hated that this was her family’s legacy. She had spent the better part of her adult life trying to rectify it.
A Gaze Beyond the Veil
Charlotte stared, and her breath caught. She had never liked the way some photographers left the deceased with eyes wide, gazing eerily into the lens. And she knew Catherine would have wanted it to appear as if she were peacefully sleeping.
The Séance at Blackwood Manor
A long table stood before her. At its head sat an older woman with iron-gray hair swept into a flattering bun. Her high black collar and silver jewelry gave her the air of a stern queen awaiting her court.
The Mist at Greystone Hall
The candle on the table flickered violently, though no wind stirred. A sudden chill slid over her shoulders, and Tabitha looked past her—ears flattened, eyes wide.
🐦⬛ Amelia and Mr. Fairweather
A sudden draft snuffed out one of the nearby candles, and Amelia shivered. Then—another sound, closer this time. The hair on her arms stood on end as she spun around. What she saw made her breath hitch.
The Florist of Beacon Hill
In an age when doctors treated sorrow with laudanum and despair with rest cures, Charlotte offered a gentler path—mint for consolation, rosemary for remembrance, violets for mourning.