The Wistful Petal
The autumn light filtered through the leaded glass of the High Court, casting long, fractured shadows across the stone floor where I sat, my hands folded in my lap, feeling the slow, heavy ticking of the clock on the wall above the King’s throne like the heartbeat of a dying giant. I had been summoned here not for crime, but for a question that had no answer, a question that had eaten through...
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