The Wistful Petal
The cage sat on the kitchen table. It was a thing of wrought iron, black and slick with age. Inside, a bird breathed. It was small, gray, and its feathers held the dust of the city. Elias sat across from it. He did not move. He did not blink. The clock on the wall ticked. Tick. Tick. Tick. Each second was a hammer blow. Each second was a brick in the wall. Elias was a prisoner. Not of a cell,...
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