The Wistful Petal

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2026-08-20 00:14:04 -

The Wistful Petal

I woke with the taste of iron in my mouth. The air was thick, stale, smelling of wet wool and old paper. I was in a high-ceilinged room. The walls were bare stone. In the center sat a table. On the table lay a bowl. It was porcelain. White. Flawless. Inside were petals. They were not flowers. They were food. Or medicine. I do not know. They looked like crushed violets. They looked like bruised...

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