The Wistful Petal

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2026-08-18 13:10:27 -

The Wistful Petal

I woke to the sound of the loom. It was not a mechanical clatter but a soft, rhythmic thumping, like a heart beating inside the walls of my cell. The air smelled of wet wool and ancient dust. I sat up. The stone floor was cold against my shins. I was wearing a shirt of coarse linen. It was white, or perhaps it had once been white. Now it was grey with age. The fabric hung on me in heavy folds....

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