The Wistful Petal

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2026-08-19 07:59:54 -

The Wistful Petal

I woke with the taste of iron and wet dust on my tongue, a sensation so visceral it felt less like a dream and more like a physical bruise. In the darkness of my small bedroom, the air was still, heavy with the scent of old paper and the faint, metallic tang of the gas lamps that had flickered out in the street below. I lay there for a moment, listening to the distant, rhythmic thrum of the...

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