The Wistful Petal

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2026-08-18 18:09:16 -

The Wistful Petal

The banquet hall of the Whitmore Textile Mill smelled of roasted pig and damp wool, a thick, cloying perfume that seemed to coat the back of your throat. You sat at the long oak table, your hands folded in your lap, watching the steam rise from the porcelain bowl in front of you. It was a celebration, they said. A victory. But you felt only the cold weight of the silence that sat in the chair...

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