The Wistful Petal

added blog Literature

2026-08-19 21:40:55 -

The Wistful Petal

I left the house at dawn. The mist clung to the heather. My brother slept. He did not stir. He never stirred when I left. I was a detective. I sought a petal. It was not a real flower. It was a shard of glass. It had shattered. I needed the pieces. I needed them whole. Or I needed them gone. I could not decide. The estate was old. Stone walls. Moss in the cracks. The air tasted of iron. Of old...

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