The Wistful Petal
The glass chalice sat upon the altar of bone, trembling in the still air. It was not a vessel of wine, nor of water. It was a cage for the scream. Elara knelt before it, her knees pressed into the cold stone of the throne room. The floor was black marble, veined with gold, reflecting the flickering light of a thousand tallow candles that burned in iron sconces along the high walls. They did not...
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