The Wistful Petal
The sky did not fall, no, not in the way the old stories promised, with thunderclaps and the shattering of glass, but it peeled away like the skin of a ripe pear, curling back to reveal the wet, raw darkness underneath, a darkness that smelled of iron and wet wool, and you stood there in the middle of the field, holding the lantern that had once belonged to your brother, feeling the weight of...
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