The Wistful Petal

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2026-08-19 23:46:25 -

The Wistful Petal

You stand at the edge of the precipice, where the air tastes of iron and old rain, and you feel the weight of your scholar’s mind pressing against the walls of your skull like water against a dam that is slowly, inexorably cracking. It is a Tuesday, or perhaps a Wednesday, for the days here in the Hollow have lost their rigid, secular sequence, stretching and compressing like taffy pulled by...

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