The Wistful Petal

agregó una foto Literature

2026-08-18 03:45:22 -

The Wistful Petal

The dream was always the same, a recurring liturgy of ink and silence. I stood in a vast, circular hall with no ceiling, only a swirling vortex of white paper suspended in the air. In my hand, I held a seal of red wax, damp and trembling. I was not sealing a letter, but a mouth. I pressed the wax to the lips of a woman who looked exactly like my wife, Elara, though her face was made of...

0 Commentarios 0 Acciones 1 Views 0 Vista previa