The Wistful Petal
The morning the old oak tree in the courtyard shed its first leaf of autumn, it landed with a soft, almost imperceptible thud against the stone paving. It was a singular event, isolated in its timing, yet to the eyes of those who watched from the high windows of the manor, it carried the weight of a prophecy. The leaf remained there, curled and brown, untouched by the wind or the sweeping...
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