The Wistful Petal

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2026-08-17 11:39:10 -

The Wistful Petal

The air in the dining room smelled of roasted duck and decay. It was a thick, cloying scent that clung to the velvet curtains and settled in the pores of the skin. Margaret stood by the sideboard, her hands trembling slightly as she sliced a wheel of aged Gouda. The knife moved in small, precise arcs. The cheese resisted, then gave way, releasing a sharp, salty aroma. It was a dinner party. Or...

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