The Wistful Petal
The gate is locked. It has been locked for three hundred years, and you know this because you have spent the last three days trying to pick the lock with a hairpin and a shard of bone. The castle stands in the middle of a field that does not appear on any map, a sprawling thing of grey stone and weeping ivy, its towers leaning into a sky that is the color of a bruise. You are tired. Your boots...
0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews