The Wistful Petal

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2026-08-19 06:41:45 -

The Wistful Petal

Maren slept in the cold. The stone floor bit into her spine. She dreamed of honey. It was thick and golden. It coated her throat. It tasted of summer. She woke to the smell of rot. The air was stale. The torchlight flickered. Shadows danced on the walls. They moved like fingers. They reached for her. Maren pulled her shawl tighter. The wool was rough. It scratched her neck. She did not shiver....

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