The Wistful Petal

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2026-08-18 03:17:44 -

The Wistful Petal

The pain started in the left hand. It was a dull ache. A red throb. It pulsed with the rhythm of a dying heart. Maren looked down. The fingers were gone. They had turned to smoke. They had turned to ash. She held her breath. She did not scream. She stood in the hall. The hall was white. The walls were seamless. There were no doors. There were no windows. There was only the light. And the floor....

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