The Wistful Petal
The map is a lie. You know this because the ink is dry, but the terrain is not. You are walking. The boots are heavy. The leather is cracked. They smell of horse sweat and old blood. You are a scholar of the path. You have studied the routes for twenty years. You know the weight of a mile. You know the cost of a step. But the map says you are safe. The map says the bridge is there. The bridge...
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