The clearinghouse held more than just artifacts and estate items, it held Sara’s heart. The brocade reticule had been her great grandmothers. The brusque manner in which she’d lost her heart remained a mystery, only to say that it was violent. Now she haunted the ossuary of a king and hoped to find peace in the sculpture of a dilettante who frequented the storeroom. Enthralled by the way he interpreted the moment of death, she had no clue his hand had brought about hers. This day it wasn’t Ira who came into the room, but a young girl no older than Sara when murdered. Young Alexia opened the wardrobe, searching through furs and hats. She tried several on, donned one of the fox pelts and reached for the gold tiara. It was fun to play dress up. Her screams echoed when she opened the bag to the still beating heart.     This piece of flash fiction is written for the weekly #MONDAYMIXER hosted by The Lantinum Vault. The rules: use one each place, thing, adjective out of a choice of three each.

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