The Wistful Petal

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2026-08-18 22:59:25 -

The Wistful Petal

You arrive at the gates of the White Court with your hands bound. They are not bound by rope, but by a silence so thick it chokes the air from your lungs. The iron gates are cold to the touch, colder than they should be, vibrating with a low, subterranean hum that you feel in your teeth. You do not look back. You know that if you look back, you will not find your own reflection. You will find...

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