The Wistful Petal

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2026-08-17 13:58:57 -

The Wistful Petal

The coat was red. That is the first thing you must know. It was not a bright red, but the deep, arterial red of old blood or dried roses. I held it against my chest as the ship cut through the fog, the wool damp and heavy. My husband, Julian, stood at the rail. He did not look back. He was looking at the horizon, where the water met the sky in a gray, indifferent line. I looked at him. He was...

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