Author: ALPIE Moreau
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The Chignon That Collapsed in Capri

There’s humidity. And then there’s betrayal. Capri began, as it often does, with delusion.Glenda said the words that now live rent-free in my trauma archive: “Let’s walk, Tatie. The view will be worth it.” She said this with the sincerity of a woman wearing espadrilles and optimism. I—a French-British construct with heat-induced disdain and a…
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She Brought a Candle to the Thermal Baths

Let’s begin with a truth: Glenda romanticized Budapest before we even landed.She said things like “I’m going to find my melancholy here” and “Maybe I was Hungarian in another life.” Darling. In that other life, you also didn’t understand the tram schedule. Day one, she stood on the Széchenyi Chain Bridge like she was in a perfume commercial. Hair tousled, scarf…
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The Lavender Didn’t Save Us

A Three-Day Dispatch from Provence Day 1: Lacoste — Where Memory Wears Linen We arrived in Lacoste just before noon. The air was lavender-laced and stubbornly warm, the kind of heat that settles behind your knees and doesn’t apologize for it. The village unfurled in soft, honey-colored stone, as if someone had built a town…



