The Wistful Petal
The rain did not fall so much as it hovered, a suspended grey mist that clung to the windows of the apartment on the fourth floor of the dilapidated brick tenement on Bleecker Street, blurring the city into a watercolor smear of indeterminate shapes and muted, dying lights. Elias Vane stood before the full-length mirror, which was cracked down the center, creating a fracture that ran diagonally...
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