The Wistful Petal

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2026-08-18 03:40:59 -

The Wistful Petal

The rain on the tin roof of the Manchester train station was not a sound so much as a texture, a gritty, metallic hiss that seemed to scrub the varnish off the world and leave it bare, grey, and shivering. I stood by the departure board, my fingers drumming a frantic, meaningless rhythm against the cold glass of the ticket barrier, watching the steam rise from the tracks like the ghosts of all...

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