The Wistful Petal
The ballroom of the Whitmore Estate hummed with the low, electric thrum of industry. It was a sound you felt in your teeth before you heard it with your ears, a vibration from the new steam engines that powered the lights, the heaters, and the heavy iron doors that sealed the house against the damp November air. You stood near the pillar, holding a glass of champagne that had gone flat an hour...
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