The Wistful Petal

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2026-08-19 21:14:57 -

The Wistful Petal

You wake to the smell of burnt sugar. It hangs in the air, thick and cloying, a ghost of sweetness that tastes like ash on your tongue. You are alone in the shop. The candle gutters. The glass panes shatter. Not from wind. From sound. A low hum, deep in the floorboards. You look down. The mirror on the wall is cracking. A spiderweb of fractures spreads across your own reflection. You do not...

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