The Wistful Petal

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2026-08-19 08:31:43 -

The Wistful Petal

I dreamt of the tower. It was not stone. It was bone. A single, vast phalanx rising from the black earth, translucent and humming with a low, wet frequency. I stood at its base. My feet were bare. The dirt was cold. I looked up. The top was lost in fog. I was small. I was nothing. I woke with the taste of iron on my tongue. The cellar smelled of damp wool and old paper. It was the Archive of...

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