The Wistful Petal

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2026-08-19 20:52:30 -

The Wistful Petal

The iron lamp burned low. The flame did not flicker. It stood still. A black pillar of light. In the dark, it was a thing of life. Thomas held it in his left hand. His right hand was empty. His right hand was shaking. He stood in the center of the great hall. The floor was stone. Cold stone. The air smelled of damp wool and old blood. The blood was his. Or perhaps it was the horse’s. The horse...

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