The Wistful Petal

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2026-08-19 01:35:29 -

The Wistful Petal

The rain did not fall so much as it invaded, a cold, grey slush that seeped into the bone and the stone alike. Thomas Bradshaw stood alone in the narrow, cobbled alley behind the old tannery, his back against the damp brick, his breath pluming in the chill air. He was a man carved from the same hard wood as the streetlamps that flickered above him, his uniform a patchwork of dark wool and...

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