The Wistful Petal
You stand at the precipice of the ironclad sky, where the steam of the engine room hisses through the rivets like the breath of a dying god, and you watch the singular, impossible bloom of the Wistful Petal unfurl in the void above the churning, blackened waters of the industrial sea. It is a flower of white porcelain and spun glass, suspended in the thick, sulfurous mist that hangs over the...
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