The Wistful Petal
The dream began not with sound or light, but with the sudden, crushing weight of a single petal of white wisteria, which had fallen from an impossible, towering vine that climbed the interior walls of a vast, circular chamber, and it struck the cheek of Thomas Bradshaw with the precision of a whispered accusation, a tiny, organic bullet that carried within its fragile, translucent structure the...
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