April 23rd, 1894 — Whitby & Co.
The words sat front and center at the top of the parchment in the witch's hand, relentless in their promise of doom. They were not, perhaps, the words Divona would have chosen to advertise the morturary's memory services, a fact she was quick to relay apologetically to the print shop's manager.
"The wording and layout are my sister's choosing, though design... elements are less her forte."
The verbiage was also not Damona Dodderidge's forte, a fact that lay unspoken and yet somehow quite loud between the two women. Lots of people came to Dodderidge's when they died, which was fantastic for buisiness. It was, however, quite morbid to wait around for corpses all the time, and so the sisters had resolved this spring to redouble their efforts advertising the other services they had to offer. For Damona, that meant memory services, the bank of pensieves kept on the premesis eerie as anything as far as Divona was concerned, though surely worthy of more poetry than we're all going to die.
"I was tasked with seeig what new boarders and designs you have available that might suit the... message," Divona added, "and reporting back."
Under different circumstances, it might have chafed that her sister had all but sent her on an errand while dealing with 'more important' things (her research), but Damona was not the only one with side projects, and this particular errand happened to line up with one of her own. That, and the widow Pettyfer was once again in the morturary wailing to anyone who would listen about her dear Bruce.
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— set by stef ♡ —